Fly to the Angels
by Cuppa Char
Summary: Dean Stared at the house. And the house stared back. Epilogue added.
1. Chapter 1

Fic: Fly to the Angels

Chapt 1?

Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.

Pairing: Sam/Dean

T- slight language warning

A/N: WIP - Another take on 'Home', only this time Dean freaks out and can't bring himself to go into the house. Spoilers for Home, Faith, Benders. I'm also taking the episodes out of order this may be a tad exaggerated, but I wanted to have it so that Dean had gone through a lot before the 'Home' eppy, so a las, I changed the order, and also, in this fic Pa Winchester gave em co-ordinates for the Benders, instead of Asylum. This Chapt was going to be longer... but i'm a)giddy with excitement as this is my first spn fic-piece - well out of my head and documented - b)it took me longer than expected to get this part done, and c)I wanted Dean's interaction with my version of wee Sari to be just right... or as right as I can get it in my mind.

Title from the song of the same name by Slaughter

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

Please read and review... and if anyone wants to give tips, please do!

Dean stared at the house. And the house stared back.

They'd been outside for a only a few minutes, sitting in the safe confines of the Impala, silently looking through the windows, as Sam nervously drummed his fingers against his door. Dean wondered to himself why it looked so innocuous, when all he could think of was the sound of his mother's strangled scream awakening him from a child-like slumber and the image of angry red and yellow flames licking their way up and down and around the building as he and Sam, so little and innocent, sat clutched to their father. The memory of the heat, and hiss and pops of the flame, intermingled with the flashing lights of the countless police and emergency teams, made him shiver and pull his cracked leather jacket tighter.

"Are you ok to do this?" concern laced his brother's voice.

Sam, his brother, the psychic wonder, was the reason that they were here. By rights he should be calling him every name under the sun for putting him in an impossible situation. But all could do was utter 'I know' like a stupid little lost lamb, who'd lost his way. He hadn't intended on letting on to Sam, that the house... and... back there, freaked him out and although he didn't actually say it, Sam had picked up on his reluctance through his broken sentence. In fact the whole Lawrence thing had actually distracted him from the 'I'm having visions of our old home and a woman who may or may not exist' bombshell. Something that Dean was still trying to get his head round now.

Throughout the rushed several hour drive, Dean had tried to distract himself further, by firing questions at Sam, most of them regarding 'the shining', 'bending spoons' and 'pigs blood' to which Sam did not reply kindly to. After they made a brief stop, Dean had excused himself, to use the restroom. As he found himself towards the back of the service station, junk littered near by, he leaned against the wall and shakily called his father, voice shaking, lips trembling, knuckles tight against the phone, and left a garbled message as he, ashamedly he thought, begged his father for help. And then as abruptly as the emotion came, he snapped the phone shut, pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked the glistening unshed tears away, which threatened to tumble out in as much the same way as his voiced had betrayed him, before walking back to Sam and the car.

And then they were there.

"I'll let you know" Dean replied, before opening the door and sliding out, the Impala moaning slightly, as it's weight was shifted, in reluctance.

Sam crossed around the car and came to a stop by Dean. He smiled slightly at Dean before taking a step on to the path of the house that was once theirs.

Dean intended to follow Sam. All of his gut instincts yelled at him angrily to follow his kid brother, but nothing else of him could make actually move one step in front of the other. His breath suddenly didn't feel like his own with his breaths tight against his chest. The house, that looked much less harmful when he was in the car, sat behind the safety of the glass window, now looked much bigger, looming up above him, as though it was trying to intimidate him into surrender and to his horror Sam looked further out than he thought he could reach.

"Sammy" he whimpered as his chest tightened even more and blackness danced at the edges of his eyes.

"Dean?" a voice, surprisingly close, replied as two hands came to rest on his shoulders, "Take it easy, bro... here sit down before you fall down".

He found himself being bundled back into the Impala, head down, legs outside of the car, and a cool hand against the back of his neck, that was both reassuring and comforting enough, to pull him from his funk and see away the darkness around his sight. He looked up to see Sam crouched in front of him, a look of concern and fright marring his features.

"Dude, you scared the hell shit out of me" Sam said, his eyes wide, but gentle, "one minute your standing there, the next your doing your best impression 'I'm a tree' - what happened?"

Sam half expected Dean to swat his hand away and reply with his normal 'I'm fine' but when he made no attempt to move or forcibly remove Sam, his concern heightened.

"Dean, what is it?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded welcoming, and not too frantic.

"I'm sorry, Sammy" Dean said, eyes suddenly looking very tired, with white-wash pale features. He broke eye-contact, unable to look at his brother anymore.

"For what?" Sam whispered.

"I... I... can't" Dean said, trying to form his broken words, "I know it's important, but I just can't... I can't go in there Sammy".

"It's ok" Sam replied instantly, "You don't have to. I'll go in there".

"No!" Dean replied sharply, "That's not what I meant... you can't. What if something-"

"Stop being a control freak" Sam replied, leaning forward, so that their heads rested slightly, "Nothing's gonna happen. I'm just going to speak to whoever lives there, and then I'll be back"

"Sam" Dean started, but was cut off as Sam pulled away.

"No Dean" Sam said as he stood firmly, "Just stay here" he looked around him, taking in the house and surrounding area, "It's probably best this way. I don't remember any of this and besides I don't really want to have to explain to a complete stranger why you look like complete shit".

"Sam" Dean took hold of Sam's sleeve and just stayed like that for a second, hoping Sam understood the silence of 'I'm sorry I'm shit-scared, but be careful'.

"I'll be back in a few" Sam said, pulling his arm out of Dean's hold and headed down the path.

And Dean once again found himself staring at the house. And the house stared back.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Fly to the Angels  
Chapt 2?  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)  
Rating - slight language warning  
A/N: WIP - Another take on 'Home', only this time Dean freaks out and can't bring himself to go into the house. Spoilers for Home, Faith, Benders. I'm also taking the episodes out of order this may be a tad exaggerated, but I wanted to have it so that Dean had gone through a lot before the 'Home' eppy, so a las, I changed the order, and also, in this fic Pa Winchester gave em co-ordinates for the Benders, instead of Asylum. Title from the song of the same name by Slaughter.  
Links to Scorpions 'wind of Change' provided. wee!Sari might be a bit off, but to be honest, all she had was two entire lines throughout the entire eppie, so getting her 'voice' was up to my imagination. Again, this chapt was going to be intially longer, with two more scenes in mind, but on a plus side... this one is longer than the first one, so by the third, i may have a nice lenghthy one! This is more of a filler anyway

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

Head back against the driver's seat, eyes shut, and sunglasses, laid gently over them, guilt played a merry game in the pit of Dean's stomach. But as much as it felt present, he still couldn't shake off the feeling of dread, of just being in the same proximity of that building. It had long ago lost its right to be called a 'Home' the night it had taken their mother.

Ok, so the place didn't actually forcibly remover her… but at this moment of time, it was much easier to hate a building that existed then a demon that didn't – or one that hadn't been found yet. He had hoped that their father would have answered his call by now, given reassurances, promises of his presence and a personal need for vengeance. There would have been one time in his life, when he would have believed John Winchester would have rode on in, hero and hunter, pistols drawn. But that whole illusion had been shattered, when there was no reply to the countless calls he and Sam had thrown out like a lifeline, no reply to Sam's call informing their father that Dean was sick, not seemingly caring about what new situation he was sending his son's.

The need for him to call, to hear his voice, burned a hole, deep within his heart. Not that he would admit that weakness to anyone. God, he'd already shown to Sam, within a space of a few minutes, that he was as weak as jelly when it came down to a frigging building that just consisted of wood and a 2.4 family, he couldn't take another meltdown in front of an audience.

"Hey, mister" a voice, startled him and he lifted his head abruptly, removing the sunglasses with he's right hand. A small girl, no older than eight, stood there, outside of the driver's side open window, a big plate of an assortment of cookies bundled up high, being held carefully in her small hands.

"Hey" he replied, giving her a small smile back.

"My Mommy said to bring you some cookies" she said nervously, pushing the plate further into the open window, "she said it might make you feel better".

"Oh" he said, taken aback at her comments, he glanced back slightly, relieved to see Sam and a pretty blonde woman, somewhat struggling with the weight of small toddler cad to her side, talking on the path outside of the front door, "I don't think you're supposed to offer cookies to strangers".

"Silly" the girl replied, her nervous face breaking slightly into a childish giggle, "I'm not supposed to take things from strangers".

"Oh, is that it?" Dean replied, his won face, warming to her. He took one of the cookies offered, "Still, it's good advice though".

The girl looked at him for a second, as if contemplating what he had just said, and then pulling the plate back, she nodded, "I guess so", she paused and then glanced back at her own mother and Sam, "He's your brother".

The way she said it, Dean didn't know if it was a question or a statement, as if she was deciphering how they could be related. Truth be told, neither of them looked like one another. They didn't share any physical trait that would instantly inform strangers of their relation. Their father had once commented on Dean's resemblance to their mother, but with that he had turned away, and Dean could remember for days afterwards, his father's reluctance to look him in the eye. Dean had always thought Sam, had physically taken after his father, and he point blank refused to be pigeon-holed into the 'who do you take after' scenario. He had always hoped he had elements of both his mother and father… but his father was always, it appeared, reluctant to talk about Mary in great detail, instead focusing on the hate and despair her death gave, than the love and happiness she had in life.

"No" Dean replied, turning back to the girl. He watched her eyes widen and he moved his head close to her and she in return, moved closer to him, as if she was being let in a big secret, "He's my geek brother".

She pulled away with another small giggle and a roll of her eyes, before glancing back again. When she faced Dean again the smile was gone, instead her face was replaced with a look that was, in Dean's opinion, much too old for her face.

"Your brother said you used to live here" she stated, her eyes studying Dean.

"Yeah… a long time ago" he said, surprised that Sam had taken the unusual tactic of telling the truth. That's what you get for letting your kid brother take the lead, he thought to himself, "I was even younger than you".

"Were they here then?" she said in such a way that reminded Dean of the young girl from the Poltergeist movies.

"Who?" he asked, his chest tightening, once again, so the word came out breathless.

"The thing in my closet" she said, not taking her eyes of him, "on fire. Mommy says it's just a dream, but I don't think so".

If he thought his chest couldn't tighten even more, he was mistaken, as the interior of the Impala seemed to expand and then retract around him, swallowing him up, **like the world was closing in** on him. The sound of hiss's and pops of flames assaulted him once more, only this time the sound of his mother's screams had been replaced by his brother's. It took all his might, and composure, not to yank the door open and run after Sam, grab hold of him and get both of them the hell away that house, the house where it all began, and out of Lawrence so that they became **distant memories, buried in the past** forever.

But he didn't, instead he took in a breath, and steadying his look at the girl, replied, "Nah… think I'd remember something like that".

"Sari!" a voice startled both of them, breaking their locked sight, "I told you to offer him a cookie and then to go back inside", a petite blonde woman stopped a few feet away from the car, toddler still clad, and Sam by her side, "Hi, I'm Jennifer" she said, leaning forward, and offering her hand.

"Dean" he replied, taking her hand, as she firmly shook it.

"I see you met Sari" Jennifer said, indicating with a wave of her hand, to the girl that Dean had spent the last few minutes talking to, "And this here is the food monster" she laughed as the toddler, lazily tried to snatch a few cookies from the plate Sari still held. Sari moved a few steps back out of the toddlers reach, and he gurgled he's displeasure in response, "He's always hungry" Jennifer smiled, "Sari, give him a cookie".

"Cute kids" Dean said, unsure of what to say.

"Thanks" she said, smiling warmly at him, "I was telling Sam that I actually found some old photos of you and your family the other day".

"You did?" he asked, surprised that something as fragile as a photo could have survived a raging fire, and intrigued that there was something that remained of his once lost family.

"Hmm, we better get going" Sam spoke up, moving around the car, to the passenger side.

"Oh, right" Jennifer said, "Hmm, I'll have a look for the photos, if you want to stop by for them before you leave town".

"Yeah" Sam said stood in the now open door, "That'll be nice Jennifer, thanks"

"Come one Sari" Jennifer said, turning around, she offered one hand to her daughter, while pulling her little boy up closer, and nuzzling her nose into his hair, "lets get this little tyke inside".

As Jennifer and her children walked away, Sam slid into the car.

"Dude" Sam said, rushed, "Her…"

"I know" Dean interrupted, "Sari told me, closet. Bodies.Fire"

"And noises, like scratches, flickering lights" Sam paused and looked at Dean, "Dude we've got to do something".

"Like what?" Dean asked, turning to face Sam, deciding now was a great opportunity to take hold of the reigns again.

"Well… we've got to get them out of there" Sam said exasperated.

"Oh! And how are you going to do that?" Dean said, one eyebrow raised in anticipation, "- 'Hi Jennifer, you know those noises and flickering lights, oh and the things in your daughter's closet. Well it's real. And it's coming to eat you and your babies'… yeah, sure because that's the express route to your local asylum".

"Dean…" Sam started.

"No, Sam" Dean replied, firmly, "This is how it goes: we treat it like any other job. Research. Talk to people. Look in the journal for anything we've missed".

"But we know the history" Sam argued.

"You know what's happened here for the last twenty two years?" Dean asked, and when Sam didn't reply, "No, didn't think so"

Sam turned and looked out of the window, one finger playing with the seal, as he traced around the edges, "We could talk to the Dad's partner at the garage".

"He's dead" Dean informed him, returning to stare out of the windscreen.

"Since when?" Sam questioned.

"I don't know Sam" Dean snorted, now exasperated himself, "Six or seven rears ago maybe. Dad went to the funeral. You don't remember?"

"Would I have asked if I did?" Sam replied. He caught the glance Dean threw at him and instantly regretted his tone with him. He still looked crap and on the pale side of being alive, "Sorry… guess not"

"Right" Dean snorted again, wondering why now, at this precise moment, someone had started to play the drums on the inside of his skull. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and sighed loudly.

"You look like shit" Sam commented, he hesitantly attempted to place a hand over Dean's brow.

"Dude!" Dean warned, pulling his head away, "Moment.Over"

"So, what should we do?" Sam asked.

"Research, talky, journal, food" Dean replied, starting the engine, "And not particularly in that order".

The impala roared its agreement as it roamed away.

** like the world was closing in**

**distant memories, buried in the past**

Both lyrics from Scorpions – Wind of Change (both used as prompts to inspire this chapter)


	3. Chapter 3

Fly to the Angels  
Chapt 3?  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)  
T - language warning

A/N: WIP - Another take on 'Home', only this time Dean freaks out and can't bring himself to go into the house. Spoilers for Home, Faith, Benders. I'm also taking the episodes out of order this may be a tad exaggerated, but I wanted to have it so that Dean had gone through a lot before the 'Home' eppy, so a las, I changed the order, and also, in this fic Pa Winchester gave em co-ordinates for the Benders, instead of Asylum. Title from the song of the same name by Slaughter .

This is a bit of a filler until the next chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

"I'm telling you… I can't see anything in this journal that will help" Sam said, as he studied Dean. Silent and ominous.

As much as he wanted the answers to end this horror that had stalked them all these years, destroying the ones they loved the most, he still couldn't ignore the fact that Dean just wasn't dealing with it. At all.

Dean had seemed clearer, and much more of his usual spiky self, when Sam had returned to the car. But none that seemed present as Dean sat opposite him, nursing a warming coffee, in his hand. Not a man of many words in the first place, vocabulary had become so few and far between, with an occasional mono-syllabic contribution, that Sam's own thoughts appeared too loud and reverberating throughout his own skull. If he was unsure whether Dean was on the wrong side of being o.k., he's fears were confirmed Dean didn't even catch, or chose to ignore, the blatant bait of the flirtatious waitress and had actually let Sam order for him. A sure sign that he hadn't got back into game play.

Loud raucous laughter penetrated through the silence, jolting both Winchesters back to the present, as frustrated reprimands soon followed. Sam glanced back slightly to see a family of four sat in the booth behind. Mother, father, son and daughter. The children squabbling amongst themselves, across the table, as the boy, about none years of age, gleefully won the argument. The girl, Sam observed, was a few years younger. Teary-eyed and rosy cheeked, she buried her head into her father's arm and whined her resent.

"Dean" he said, turning his attention back to his brother, noticing him wince as the young continued to whine at a particularly high notch, "I know this must be hard on you".

God this must be so hard, Sam considered, as he realised that he couldn't remember a single detail from that night. He couldn't remember the house or this town – a thankful reminder of the event that changed their lives forever. And, although, he'd never got to know his mother, he'd never really thought he'd lost out on anything, not like Dean who'd had four years, four years of life, four years of memories, four years of worth… and so her loss, must have been felt so much more. He'd never resent Dean for that; besides how could you miss something you couldn't entirely remember having in the first place.

But it was for exactly these same reasons that he had to act now, before another family was lost to the very same evil that had destroyed theirs.

"Lets not do this Sammy" Dean murmured, one hand resting across his forehead, elbow on the diner table, as the other swirled the remainder of rapidly cooling coffee around the bottom of the cheap, off-white mug. A local paper sat open in front of him. His gaze was drawn past Sam, to the family of four, as the girls whining had become breathless with gulps. This family, that girl with her blatant attempts at attention, was just reminding Dean of the things he didn't have. Hell, this whole fucking diner, was reminding Dean of the things he didn't have. Everybody was somebody's mother, somebody's father, somebody's son, somebody's daughter. At this precise moment of time he didn't feel like he was anybody's son – just a lost brother.

"I know Dean" Sam said, fingering a napkin, "But this family…"

"God!" Dean suddenly snapped, voice loud and sharp, as he slammed the mug down hard, "Can't you shut her up!"

The outburst not only surprised Sam but the dozen or so people who had lingered around the diner. Dean had always been calm and patient with kids, something, Sam believed, that came from the countless years of being a surrogate-father to a kid who just didn't quite understand why they just weren't a normal family. Sam didn't even have time to process this abrupt behavioural change, as the girl's father stood up, quickly.

"Excuse me?"

Sam stood, lightening quick, and turned, standing between the flustered man and his own brother.

"Sorry" Sam said, trying to pacify the angry man, "We've just had a long drive…" he paused, trying to think of a reasonable excuse for his brother's behaviour, "… family reunion. Didn't go so well".

Dean was out of order, Sam knew that, and apologies needed to be said, even if it did all consist of lies, well there was a margin of truth to his words – it was a reunion of sorts, but Sam knew that he was about one punch away from knocking this man right out if he attempted another step towards his brother, who would have stood and joined him, if Sam hadn't put his palm out, halting his ascent. A silent way of saying 'Dude… I'm trying to get us out of your shit'.

"That doesn't excuse…" The man began.

"I know" Sam agreed, "But it got personal and sensitive" he paused, looking the man in the eye, "And I kinda would appreciate it if you would refrain from hitting my emotionally, admittedly defunct, and vulnerable brother… in front of your kids". The words laced with soft tones and calm, but he kept the eye contact, silently warning the guy to back off.

The man suddenly glanced back. The girl had now quietened observing them with wide-eyed curiosity, the boy looked more receptive the scene before him, and the wife looked away, embarrassed.

"It's o.k." The woman said, gathering the children up with both her hands, "We were leaving anyway, "She looked at her husband with a glare, "Steve, leave it. Lets get out of here".

The man took hold of the girl, pulling her up into his arms, "Your lucky my kids were here" he said as he trailed after his wife.

If your kids were not here, none of this would have happened, Sam thought ironically, as he wearily followed, with his eyes, until he saw them, finally exit the diner.

"Bro" Sam exclaimed, as he sat down with a sigh, "What the hell happened?"

"She gave me a headache" Dean replied, head now down, eyes refusing to meet Sam's questioning and concerned look.

"Yeah, well thanks" Sam stuck in, trying a different tactic, "Because I was nearly the filling between a knuckle sandwich"

"Sorry" Dean quietly replied.

"Dean" Sam began.

"Just leave it" Dean snapped, "and read the frigging journal!"

"I've told you – there's nothing" Sam said again.

Dean didn't reply, instead choosing to ignore him, he stared intently at the local classified ad's scattered across the two pages in front of him, as if he would miraculously find the answer between the dog breeders and pet accessories until a small box on the far bottom right hand corner caught his attention.

"Dude" he muttered quietly, as if saying it too loud would destroy the discovery and cause the box to sprout legs and run off the page, "Look" he said pushing the paper around so that it was facing Sam.

"What am I looking at?" Sam asked, confused, as to why he was being assaulted with random town-folks attempts at life. On any other occasion Sam would given anything to have the normalcy of just reading the classifieds for no more of a reason as buying a new piece of furniture.

"Here" Dean said, tapping a small non-imposing box.

The words simply read:

Missouri Mosely

Psychic

Appointments only – Drop-ins considered on special occasions

The words were followed by a contact number and an address.

"If this is another of your psychic jokes" Sam warned, "Not funny and so not the time".

"No" Dean said, taking hold of the cracked and worn leather bound journal, discarded by Sam's left arm. He flicked through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for and turning the journal so that it lay between the both of them, began to read 'I went to Missouri today and I learnt the truth', he paused and looked at Sam, eyes raised with a spark that resembled the Dean, that Sam hadn't seen since shortly before he'd revealed the contents of his dream, "I always thought he meant the state".

"Dad went to a psychic?" Sam asked disbelieving.

"Oh, what?" Dean responded, pulling back and sitting straighter, "You thought you were the only one?"

"Dude" Sam complained, "I've already told you, I'm not psychic – I just have these dreams…".

"Yeah, whatever you say, Carrie" Dean snorted.

Sam found a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"That's Telekinesis" Sam replied smugly, "Which I don't have"

"- Yet" Dean managed to slip in.

Jeez, Dean, you sure know how to reassure your brother over his newly acquired and, quite frankly, freaky skills. As he looked across the table, towards his brother, hazel eyes not masking the turbulent emotions, shining like a bright orb of light, Sam considered anything was better than an emotionally unavailable brother with inappropriate and ill-timed wit to mask all the pain.

"Come on" Sam, with a roll of the eyes. He folded the paper once, so the advert and its details were displayed, glancing once again at the clear and precise words, happened upon by accident. Sleight of hand, twist of fate, he thought wryly, as he grabbed at the journal with his free hand, "We should check this out".

"Dude" Dean exclaimed, hands spreading out before him, "Light headed, dizzy, headache. I need to replenish".

You forgot near potential panic attack, Sam thought to himself, and reluctantly stated, "Well… replenish on the move" he stood and turning slightly called out to their waitress, "Sorry… miss, but could we have that wrapped".

Dean now stood next to him, and he turned, a frown marking his forehead, as he sought out Dean's approval, "Look… I know it's hard" he stated again, but then went simply, and guiltily to the words that he knew would anchor Dean back into hunter mode, "But a family's life is at stake".

"I know" Dean replied, quietly and simply, and as he made his way to the counter, to collect the freshly-wrapped order, he thought to himself, I just hope it's not ours.

tbc

a/n Prompt: Sleight of hand, twist of fate (U2, With Or without You)


	4. Chapter 4

Fly to the Angels  
Chapt 4?  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)  
PG13- slight language warning

Thanks for all the support! 

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

Dean was developing a complex. About houses. It was something he had come to realise as he studied Missouri Mosely's business establishment, and by the look of it, home residence too.

It was probably why he felt so at ease amongst the countless motels and cheap rooms he found himself frequenting. The lack of attachment, something he needed, but not necessarily healthily expressed, from his own family, was reassuring when all it involved was living and breathing, in something that was an empty shell, only consisting of four walls. With basic facilities, and never staying anyone place no more than a week, at anyone time, it could never be called a 'home', and attachment never an issue.

Dean did not need separate rooms or a kitchen and bathroom that were actually more than a foot away from his own bed. He didn't need a lived-in abode, with two or more floors, a living room, a garage and a white picket fence… home for Dean, simply meant, his father and brother.

Right here, right now, it did scream 'lived-in' with vociferous pride, garden bright and colourful, flowers and shrubs exploding naturally, and an old-banger of a car, that wouldn't have looked out of place being driven by an old lady in her late sixties on wards.

Dean's late lunch, an over-stuffed burger, sat unattended by his side, relatively untouched. Sam's own, a somewhat healthier option, did not fare much better, although he was pretty sure were left untouched for entirely different reasons, with a thunderous ache still playing against the back of his eyes.

"So" Sam said, "You ready?"

"– Yeah, sure" he said, startled out of his observations.

They both exited the Impala, and made their way round the rusty-brown car, parked in front of a closed garage.

"Dude" Dean commented, dryly, as he kept one eye on the neglected car, "Kill me before I end up driving something like that".

"I think it's safe to say" Sam replied, with a smile, "That you'd only drive that by force".

"An evil one" Dean agreed, as they climbed the few, steep steps, to the brown-wooden door.

As Sam reached to press the bell, the door suddenly swept open and a small black lady stood there, a beaming smile radiating of her.

"Oh" Sam said, startled, before smiling back, "Hello, you probably don't know who we are" he began.

"-Of course I know who you are" she said in a high pitched voice that consisted of treacle and honey, "I've been expecting you".

Dean looked at her, one eyebrow raised, as he hesitantly asked, "you… you sensed us coming?"

"Well, honey, I can 'sense' things, as you put it" she said, breaking into small bubble of laughter, "But no, not this time".

She backed up, letting the door swing open more, revealing a wide hallway with dark warm brown and mahogany wooden panels.

"Come on in boys", she said, gesturing for them to follow, "We have a lot to talk about".

Both Sam and Dean exchanged similar confused and curious looks, before Sam took a step in, closely followed by Dean.

"If you didn't see us coming," Sam asked, "How'd you know…?"

"Your father told me" she said calmly.

"You've spoken to Dad?" Sam asked, shocked, and upset, that their father had obviously been in contact with this stranger, but not Dean or himself.

"Yes" she said, moving into a smaller room that consisted of a big, well-cushioned sofa, a coffee table, and a one-seater. A small desk sat, situated in front of a window. She gestured with her hand, indicating for them to sit on the sofa, "As soon as he heard you boys were here, he called me", she paused and studied them as they both sank into the deep seats, Dean on the left, Sam on the right, "He said it wouldn't take you long to find me".

Dean shifted slightly, moving his whole, prompting her to say, "Don't even think about putting your dirty boots on my table".

He paused, eyes widening slightly before he settled fully back into his seat.

"How did he know?" Sam asked, continuing the questioning.

"I called him" Dean spoke quietly beside him.

"What?" Sam asked, turning to face his older brother, shocked, "When?"

"When we stopped" Dean said, refusing to turn and meet the interrogating stare, "toilet break. Gone for a few minutes" he paused and briefly glanced at the unchanging stare, "Any of this sounding familiar?"

"Why?" Sam asked bluntly.

"I… what did you think I was going to do?" Dean asked, "We were coming _here – back here_" he paused, feeling his face redden, "I needed…"

"No" Sam said quickly, stalling Dean's flail into embarrassment, slightly surprised by his choice of words. He couldn't remember Dean ever coming out with 'I need' that didn't have anything to do with beer, girls, himself or some other selfless-act, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know" Dean admitted, "It was… I just wasn't thinking straight O.K" a shrug of the shoulder, and Sam could feel the tense muscles, as arm brushed against arm, Dean's free hand rubbing at his eyes again.

What do you want me to say, Sam, Dean silently fumed, that I was shitting myself, that I couldn't get that house, the flames, those screams out of my head… God, he's kid brother just didn't need to know those details. He looked up, eyes darting quickly to Missouri, as he fidgeted under her scrutiny.

Shit, he thought, did I just broadcast all that?

"Now's not the time for brotherly spats" Missouri spoke up, eyes moving from brother to brother.

"Do you know where he is?" Sam asked, turning his attention back to the lady before him.

"No… sorry" she spoke it softly.

Dean shifted again, head coming up, eyes darting up and down, in short concessions.

"I thought you were psychic?" he said.

"Boy, I can't just grab facts out of thin air!" she scolded, glaring at him.

"Miss Mosely…" Sam began.

"Missouri, please" she insisted, "We are all friends here".

"Missouri" he started again, "We you his contact…?"

"I'm your Daddy's friend, Sam" Missouri corrected him, "And yes we have contact. If you're trying to ask if I was the one who informed him of his partner's death than yes I told him".

"When your father came to see me he was consumed by grief, and he wanted answers" she continued, "He took me to the house to see if I could sense something… to see if I could feel the imprints - the things left behind – to try and find out what killed your mother".

Again Dean felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of this woman. Her eyes soft, her mouth small, her silky smooth complexion, doing nothing to halt the pendulum of nerves and emotions that were already sharp and sensitive. Discussing this now was not helping.

"Your Daddy wanted you boys away from there" she said frowning at Dean, "and he asked to keep an eye on the house".

"And?" Sam asked eagerly, "Has there been anything?"

"Well, that's just it Sam" Missouri said, looking at him, "There hasn't been anything – no deaths, no reports of incidents, no suspicious circumstances… what exactly is it that you have seen?"

"So, Dean" Missouri asked, "Is it all psychics you're scared off or just me?"

She sat opposite him at the kitchen table, as she poured fresh, home-brewed coffee, into three coffee mugs, which she had placed between them. After Sam had revealed the details of his dream, and Missouri had given her reassurances, she had agreed it warranted another home-visit – today. Sam had visibly relaxed, excusing himself to go to the toilet, but Dean had remained physically tense and withdrawn. Eyes pained, a slight flush to his cheeks, Missouri had, herself, felt heavy and weighed down by the torrent of emotions hammering away.

"I'm not scared" Dean said defensively, tone abrupt, "You're just not what I was expecting" he added unconvincingly.

"And what were you expecting?"

"Hmm… old lady, white eyes" he paused and smirked at her, "crystal ball?"

"I don't want to scare the clientele" she said, laughing and then she looked him directly in the eye, "I'm not going to invade your privacy Dean. I won't go poking where I'm not wanted" she took a sip of her own coffee.

Sam appeared, through the open doorway, catching the end of the exchange.

"Sam" she said, "There's a coffee here for you".

Missouri was well aware of the alarmed look that spread across his face as he glanced at his brother. These boy's had obviously not dealt with, or discussed, Sam's newly discovered skills.

"Thanks" Sam said, finding himself sitting at the head of Missouri's kitchen table, "So, when do we make a move?"

"As soon as we have finished our refreshments" Missouri nodded at Sam, seeing his impatience, "I need to make up some supplies, just as a precaution, but we should be out here in thirty minutes or so" she looked at Sam, "We do it my way – let me have a feel for the rooms, sense the imprints, see what I feel".

"Right" Sam said, "O.K, sounds good"

Missouri cleared her throat as Dean sat silently staring down into his coffee-mug.

"I think you should sit this one out Dean" Missouri spoke up, expecting the impending reaction.

"What?" Dean shot out, head snapping up.

"I don't think you should go" she repeated firmly.

"I have to" he insisted.

"But do you want to?" Missouri asked, again fixing him with a knowing stare.

"Sammy needs…" Dean began.

"Do you want to?" Missouri asked again, voice firm and unwavering, as she sat small, framed by the sink and brightly sun-lit window.

"No…" Dean paused glancing at his brother, "But I can't let Sam go in there on his own".

"This isn't about not being there for him" Missouri insisted, still keeping her sight locked on him, "This is about what you need, what Sam needs… what that house and family needs".

Dean shot up out the chair, strong hands and arms pushing him up, so forcibly that his chair clattered backwards precariously before finally tumbling over.

"I don't care what you think" Dean stated firmly.

"Dean" Sam stated, voice cautionary yet soft.

Missouri stood also, keeping their dead-like sight on each other.

"I can't… I won't let him do it alone" he said vehemently, staring her down, eyes set with stone.

Missouri finally moved from her position, pulling away, one hand remained, fingers tracing the edge of the table, as she moved around, until she found herself standing in front of him.

"I know Honey" she said calmly, "But it's not good for you to go in there".

Dean started to reply, but she held a finger to his lips, "Shh, let me speak".

"These places" she began, "Dark spirits… whatever you want to call them, they feed of death, fear, despair, darkness", she raised her hand from the table and placed it gently against the front of his right shoulder, noticing his flinch, as did so, "You're shoulder was hurt".

"You're poking around" Dean stiffly reminded her, "Thought you couldn't 'grab facts out of thin air?"

"Wounds can mark your soul, much like a scar, the physicality of it, as well as feelings and emotions associated with it" she paused, continuing to keep her hand held there, "But your soul, everything about you, is already hurting… and boy it's seeping out of you like a second-hand sieve".

Dean's hand snapped up, fingers wrapping tightly around the offending wrist, "I thought you said you wouldn't…".

"I have to" she shot back, "I'm not going to go into specifics here Dean. Enough has been said – all anyone needs to know is that you shouldn't go in there" she paused, glancing over at Sam, Because if you do, then your not only putting yourself at risk, but your brother too".

"But Sammy…" Dean began defeated.

"You're not going in" Sam spoke up, as he stood up and walked around the other side of the table, effectively trapping Dean, like a boxed-animal , in the corner of Missouri's kitchen. Cruel move Sam Winchester, he considered silently, but one that he hoped would have a desired effect, "Look what happened the last time you were there".

Dean roughly pushed Missouri's hand away and turned to Sam, "I'll put a handle on it" he insisted.

"We can't take the risk" Sam said, "I wont be alone – Missouri will be with me" he paused, digging into his pocket, "And dude, cell-phones".

Missouri backed away slightly as Sam eased a bit closer to him glad to see that Dean didn't attempt to run.

"I don't like it" Dean admitted quietly.

"I know Bro" Sam said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "But it's for the best"

"Tell me that again when it's over" Dean said, catching Sam's eye, face resigned and unsure.

Twenty five minutes later they were finally ready to leave. Missouri had enlisted Dean's help in packing the several ingredients together, a small gesture, that she hoped made him feel a bit more worthwhile. Hopeless and helpless had been the general feeling, floating around him, but not enough to mask the desperation of letting his brother back into that house.

Missouri had gathered the bags up, placing them in her handbag, and shocked Dean even further by informing her that not only were _they_ taking _his_ car because it was the first available car on the drive, that he was to stay here. Dean had argued at first but then agreed with Missouri's distrust of him actually staying put. Would he stay outside, if he heard a scream, she had questioned. Probably not, he had answered. So, reluctantly he had agreed to stay and for Sam to call when it was over. Missouri had handed her own car keys to Dean, much to the delight of Sam, who gave him a knowing smile

When it was time to leave, Missouri headed outside, leaving Dean and Sam, standing in the open front door way, to have a few words between themselves.

"This is going to be O.K Dean" Sam said, turning to look at him, "I promise".

"Dude" Dean complained, "Don't make promises; it's like a curse or something".

"You make them all the time" Sam noted.

"No" Dean said, hand reaching up, exploring the wooden ridge of the door-jamb, "just tell people how it is – besides it's a big brother's job".

"Yeah", Sam smiled at him, "But every now and then the kid brother gets to shed the annoying side-kick cape".

"What movies have you been watching?" Dean snarked at him, "No don't answer that, it'll probably be some geek arty crap".

"You mean you won't understand it" Sam said, laughing.

"Bitch"

"Jerk"

There was silence for a few seconds before Dean pulled his hand away from the door-jamb and slapped Sam on the back.

"Seriously" Dean said, "Be careful"

"Always" Sam replied, "I'll call"

He watched as his brother trotted down the steps and path to the awaiting Missouri and the Impala.

His heart squeezed tight as the Impala pulled out of the driveway. It really hurt to watch his brother drive away from him.

It was several nails, and a few hours later, that Dean finally heard anything.

Pacing back and fourth, up and down, he was sick of the sight of this kitchen, that table, and his cell-phone, sitting innocently in the middle of it, willing it to ring.

So it was a blessed release when it did, Sam's name flashing up, like a flare.

He scrambled for it, knee banging hard against a chair, causing him to grunt out "Sam!"

"I'm alive" the voice announced.

Relief flooded through him, like a dam, releasing its water. He was alive, and hopefully, it was all over.

"Man, it's good to hear your voice" he admitted honestly.

"Me too, bro" Sam said through the line, "Are you O.K?"

"Hey, that's my line" Dean said incredulously, phone clutched tightly to his ear.

"I'm fine" Sam insisted, "This thing was pretty pissed. Threw a lot of shit around" he paused, taking a breath, "But you know, it just wasn't prepared for the reflexes of a Winchester".

"Right" Dean said ignoring Sam's light attempts at humour, "But you're O.K?"

"I told you, I'm fine" Sam insisted again, "I think something attempted to strangle me, but dude, get me… I dodged!"

"Choke-boy out-moved a choke-hold?" Dean said, alarmed that he hadn't been there to help, but strangely reassured the familiarity. He grabbed at Missouri's keys and headed for the front door, "I'm impressed".

"Listen" Sam said, "Missouri said she can't feel anything here anymore, like it's empty, so if you're up to it, why don't you head over".

"Already on my way" Dean replied, as he reached the car and fumbled with the keys, finally unlocking it.

"Kay" Sam replied.

"You didn't mention…" Dean began as he started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway, "It's not…"

"I'll tell you everything on the way".

Sam stood, hands bundled in his pockets, with Missouri and Jennifer, her kids at her side. They had just finished clearing all the mess up, that had been caused by flying objects, missiles and furniture, unwilling to let Jennifer on doing it all herself.

He had let Missouri explain all the details to her, while he had phoned Dean, to fill him on the night's events. He had explained that Missouri could not sense anything of the thing that had killed their mother, no familiar imprints or feelings that she had felt, all those 22 years ago. Instead she felt something entirely different. Troubled spirits and dark souls.

Missouri had explained to Sam, and he in turn to Dean, that when bad things happen, something so bad that it leaves a dark shadow, and much like how Dean's wound scard his soul, it marked the house and all around it, leaving it fester and bring with it an opportunity, and place, for more troubled and dark spirits.

He was disappointed that this wasn't the thing that killed his mother and Jess, but as the same time, he was somewhat glad, because he had always pictured his father and brother, by his side, all three wronged in such unimaginable ways.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as the familiar rusty-brown car pulled up, parking against the sidewalk.

"Dean!" Sari exclaimed, as he climbed out of the car, bouncing eagerly over to him, "Hi"

"Hey" he said, smiling at her, "Had a good night?"

"Yeah" she nodded, "We went to the pictures, although…" she paused and glanced back at her brother, "We had to choose a child-friendly one".

"I'll let you in a secret" Dean said, crouching down, "That's what big brothers' and sisters' do" he winked at her and stood up.

Missouri headed over, hand extended, "My car better be in one piece, Dean Winchester" she said as he handed over the keys.

"I'm surprised it even went at all" Dean smirked at her.

"I better be going" she said, choosing to ignore him, "It's late and I'm not getting any younger. I presume you boys have a place to stay".

Sam stood, hands still in pockets, and stepped in before Dean could speak, "We're fine thanks Missouri".

Truth was they hadn't even thought of a motel or room, Dean intent on getting the hell out of Lawrence as soon as possible, Sam intent on stopping anything from happening. Dean interpreted Sam's words as 'Thanks, but we need to be on our own' which in turn meant, 'We need to re-group'.

"O.K" Missouri said, heading to her car, "Call if you need me".

Sam and Dean both turned to Jennifer. They said their goodbyes, watching as the family went inside, and then headed for the Impala, both sliding wearily inside.

"So, where to?" Dean asked.

"Do you mind if we stay for a while?" Sam asked, "I just want to make sure they are all right".

Dean glanced at Sam, a concerned look on his face, as Sam stared out of the window.

"Why?" Dean asked, "I thought…?"

"It is" Sam reassured him, "It's just… I want to make sure they are O.K, that's all"

"Sure" Dean finally replied, settling back into his seat, he asked himself, when the hell is this going to be over?

"Dude, I don't get" Dean asked, "If everything is O.K, why are we still here?"

"I just wanted to make sure" Sam said again.

"Have you had another…?" Dean started to ask.

"I just feel… different" Sam finally said, "Something feels off".

"Why didn't you mention anything to Missouri?" Dean asked, confused, "I'm not supposed to be here, remember?".

Sam refused to look at him, instead turning his head, so he could look outside of the window, their old house directly in his view.

"Because… I didn't start feeling like this straight away" He paused, "It could be trapped wind for all I know! Would you just stop with the twenty questions!"

"Dude, wanting a shit, doesn't keep you outside a house for hours on end!"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed frustrated.

Dean turned, and looked out of his own window, blowing small warm puff of air, against the cold glass.

"About before…" Dean began, "I am sorry that I didn't have your back".

Sam did turn then, glancing at him quickly, throwing a small smile, before turning back again to look at the house.

"We've been through all this" Sam said, "You had no choice… besides there was no way you were getting past Missouri".

Dean snorted hard.

"I'd like to see her try" Dean said, catching another smirk from Sam, "O.K, maybe not… she's a freaky little lady".

"I can't believe you drove her car" Sam suddenly said, "What was thing you said about…?"

"Shut up!" Dean said, seriously, "If you ever… I swear… just don't"

"Yeah, whatever Dean" Sam, said, waving a hand in his direction, "Thinly veiled threats and all I'm really hearing is blah blah blah"

"We'll at least I'm not an annoying side-kick" Dean argued back, "And you actually admitted. Which makes me Batman!"

No response

"Dude, did you hear me?" Dean asked, turning to look at Sam, "I called you Robin. He wears a shitty home-made costume… Sam?"

"Jennifer" Sam whispered out, "It's Jennifer".

He suddenly flung the door open and stumbled out of the car, barrelling himself across the garden to the white door, which was firmly shut and refusing to open.

"What?" Dean shouted, scrambling out after him, "What is it?"

"They're in trouble" Sam shouted back, as lights, inside and out, started flickering.

The door, surprisingly, flew open and a blonde and hysterical woman flung herself out, straight into Sam's arms.

"There's something in there" she cried, tears falling from her cheeks, "the kids… I tried to get them, but it won't let me".

Sam quickly pushed Jennifer into Dean's arms, shouting, "Look after Jennifer, I'll get the kids".

"No wait!" Dean yelled after him, as Jennifer turned, and buried her head into his arm, crying with gut-wrenching sobs, "Sam!"

"My kids" Jennifer mumbled brokenly, "God, please don't let anything happen to my kids".

Dean pulled his arm up enveloping her tight to chest, as whispered into her hair.

"Everything will be O.K" he said, "Sam'll get them. Everything will be fine".

He wasn't too sure who the words were for, himself or Jennifer, but all could do was stand there, holding a woman who had only met that very morning, close to him, as he stared disbelievingly at the open front door, like it was the gateway to hell.

And then suddenly two silhouetted figures appeared in the door-way as Sari, clutching tightly at her little brother's hand, face fierce and determined, ran out into the night.

"Oh thank god" Jennifer exclaimed, pulling herself free of his hold, as she wept both children into her arms, leaving Dean staring at the doorway with devastated hope.

"Where's Sam?" he barked.

"Something grabbed him" Sari said, eyes full of tears, "Just pulled him right away from me".

And then Dean was running, stumbling, yelling his brother's name as he skidded to the open doorframe, his chest tightening and breaths hurting. Please, no, he begged silently, don't let it have taken his brother too.

He had no choice

He ran in, calling his brother's name, with all his might.

The world shifted

Sam blinked and realised he was not being dragged across the floor as he had been when he was wrenched from Sari's grasp, the faint sound of two children screaming ringing in his ears, but was now hanging against a wall, feet dangling. Hanging was not the right word, he thought. No he was pinned there, by an unseen force, dread spiking in him as he realised.

His legs could not move

His arms could not move

He couldn't even move his head

He was royally fucked

And that's when he saw it. A figure in flames. Moving towards him slowly, but the fear he'd had before, receded and a sense of familiarity swept through it.

"Oh my god" he whispered, "I know who you are… I know now".

The flames receded slowly, drawing back like a snake, to reveal a beautiful young lady, soft blonde hair cupping her face, a sharp-white nightdress billowing around her, and a wistful smile on her face.

"Sam" she said moving closer, coming to stop mere inches from his trapped form, "I'm sorry".

She turned, almost floating and stepped away from him, and lifted her head defiantly.

"Let go of my son" she ordered, voice strong, "And get out of my house"

At that precise moment two things happened.

Sam heard a gasped 'Mom' as a white light suddenly branched out, like an exploding firework, from their mother.

"Mom, Wait!" Dean cried, as he flung himself towards her.

To Sam's horror the white light not only completely engulfed Mary, But Dean too, blinding Sam as the bonds were released and he slipped to a floor in an undignified heap.

He blinked several times, desperately trying to regain a sense of the room, as the blinding darkness receded, and the room swam back into focus.

Dean was still, his back facing him, on his knees as another whispered "Mom' escaped from him brokenly.

"Dean" Sam asked, gently, as he shuffled forward, shaking his shoulder. Dean didn't respond, so Sam pushed himself around, mirroring his position, with one hand still resting on his shoulder.

Dean just stared ahead, eyes unfocused and dazed, as blood dripped from his nose, some pooling on the wooden floor between, some staining his jeans at the knee.

"Mom" he whispered again.


	5. Chapter 5

Fly to the Angels  
Chapt 5?  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)  
T/M - language warning. Quite prolific in this Ch.

A/N: Prompt from Tony Christie's Avenues and Alleyways 'Dream till the sunrise creeps in your eyes'

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

Thanks for the support and reviews and sorry for not replying. Me bad (time just flies by).

The shit really had hit the fan.

And if anyone asked him right now, what the hell had just happened, Sam still wouldn't be able to give a rationale answer. Because that's exactly what Jennifer did ask, outside in the garden, wide-eyed and terrified. He never had an answer then either. Not even one of the passing assurances and small white lies that he and Dean had got down to a fine piece of art.

The whole horrific night, from feeling himself being dragged violently away from a screaming Sari, to being absolutely petrified that Dean would have disappeared, evaporated by the white light or even worse, dead, his body limp and lifeless, for everyone to see, came together in a muddle of mixed memories and emotions, leaving him bewildered and disorientated.

Instead he'd found Dean dazed and, to his horror, broken. Although he hated it, Sam could deal with concussions, cuts, stitches and injuries that he could see. He would know what do and act accordingly, but this had been completely different, a Dean that he could never recall before, and a fierce protectiveness swelled up, from deep inside, until tears were brought to his eyes.

All he had wanted to do was get Dean as far away from the house as he could.

So he had ripped a small strip of his shirt, bundling it up, and gently dabbed it as his brother's nose, wiping it at his mouth and chin, where blood, a startling deep red against the pale and pasty pallor of his skin, had dripped and pooled and then stood, shuffling and bending, so as to pull Dean from his waist and arms up.

And Dean had let him, which just hurt him even more.

He had hurriedly propelled Dean, one arm around his shoulder, the other cupping around the front of him, hand spread out as palm and fingers laid flat against his stomach. They had stumbled along the way, as Dean fought to keep his balance, through the hallway, into the garden, and past Jennifer with the full intention of reaching the car.

But she had called, gasping questions, and reluctantly, they had doubled back.

"I've got to get him out of here" Sam had said quietly and quickly, wanting to spare his brother any unwanted scrutiny and embarrassment.

Jennifer's eye's had moved from her own children, who were still clutched to her, arms, hands, and legs all squeezing tightly, to Dean, concern widening them even further.

"I… I understand" she had replied uncertainly, watching as Sam shuffled slightly, turning sideways, so his body had shielded Dean from the caring, yet unwanted, looks.

Jennifer had not wanted to go back into the house, and so after leaving Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam had persuaded her neighbours to take them in, surprised at their friendly hospitality at the unkind hour of 2.30 in the morning. Sam, again, had been lost for words when asked what had happened and had let Jennifer take charge with some story of a burglary and late night intruders, freeing him to return to the still shell-shocked Dean.

He had driven fast and hell-bent, occasionally letting his hand and fingers ghosting over Dean's still form, until a motel came into view, the 'vacancies' sign flashing like a life-saving beacon in the dark of night. He would have, could have, driven further, as far as he could out of this fucking town, but the awareness that he had left Jennifer in the middle of the night and the fact that he had absolutely no idea of what had just gone down, rang clear in his mind. He knew he should have rung Missouri, but his sole focus had been Dean, and with Jennifer and the kids safely out of the house, Missouri could wait until he had calmed Dean down and given him some connection back to the 'here' and 'now'.

They had got a room, one near the end of the parking lot, away from the office, and leaving Dean on one of the beds, had gone into the bathroom and dampened a small hand towel. Dean had startled him though, finding him leaning heavily on the edge of the bathroom doorway, one arm stretched out and bracing the opposite edge.

"She's in me Sammy" Dean had stated, voice devoid of emotion, as he stared blankly at him.

Relief had washed through him as heard his brother speak and move for the first time since hearing Dean first gasp out to their mother in shock and awe, but he had felt slightly at unease at the way he had spoken and looked.

"Course she is" Sam had replied, striding forward, and taking him by the arm, and gently lead him back to the bed, "She's part of us all".

He had placed the towel against Dean's nose, gently wiping the blood, dried and encrusted around one nostril, with light strokes.

"No" Dean had replied, eyes drooping, "I can feel her".

"Shh" Sam had gently instructed, a foreboding feeling tight within his stomach, "Just go to sleep, let me sort it".

And now here he was, still no more the wiser, and unsure of what to do, as he lay on his side, watching Dean sleep, hoping for light and that familiar spark to creep into his eyes. A slight flushed look littered Dean's unnatural, fragile, porcelain features.

I really should ring Missouri, Sam thought to himself, as darkness crept up on him and sleep, finally, claimed him.

Dean awoke quickly, his eyes darting around him, searching for familiarity. He lifted his head, eyes finally settling on Sam's long-limbed form, one arm hanging, bent, and stiffly from his bed.

Dean continued to look at him for a few minutes, before letting his head fall back down on to the hard and flat pillow, taking in the room around him. One small window, on the other side of him, the bathroom to the left, a small table with two chairs to the right. Opposite the beds, there was a small kitchen equipped with a microwave, toaster, kettle and a small mini-fridge that hummed bigger than it actually was. Already dark with late night and early morning dimness, the walls and carpets were a dull rose-red shade, instantly reminding him of Sam crouching next to him, with a towel and flaky blood smudges.

His hand flew to his nose, glad to feel no wetness. He turned his head slightly, seeing a small-grey towel on the floor, in line with Sam's open limp and drooping hand.

He turned his head back quickly, his neck snapping tight with tension, and gasped. Something suddenly felt different, he was sure of it. He whipped his head around, eyes searching the dark, as something soft brushed his ear. But as he reached up, he felt nothing there. He thought he heard a whisper too. That was when the temperature suddenly dropped, and he could see warm puffs of air rise up, from his still body, to form a white transparent cloud in the darkness, above him.

After a hesitated second, Dean attempted to reach for his knife under his pillow, that he realised would not have been there in the first place, and what use would have it been anyway. But it didn't matter, because he couldn't move his arm. In fact he couldn't move. Period.

Head, arms, legs all suddenly heavy and unable to form any words on his lips, his throat tightening as his vocal chords were stretched and pulled, like an expanded elastic band, he found himself being pulled from the bed, as something dragged him upwards over the pillows and tight against the wall with such an intense pressure, he felt his ribcages pushing against lungs, until he was suspended taut and stiff across the ceiling.

God No, he screamed inside his head, don't let it end like this. Not with Sammy right here!

Eyes wide, terror reflected wildly in them, and heart beating so erratically that it appeared its sole purpose was to remind him that he wasn't dead. Yet.

He heard the whisper again.

"Dean" it was said louder this time, and much nearer, "I'm here".

Unable to move his head, he could only look out of the side of his left eye, as his breath, already tight against his chest, sharpened. This isn't happening, he told himself, this fucking isn't happening. Maybe the bloody nose, Jennifer and the kids in the garden, the motel and Sam and his bloody towel never really happened. Maybe he never left that room and that house.

"Dean, honey" the voice said "I'm here".

He continued looking, eyes tight to the side, as he realised she really was there. Or he was. In his state of mind, and disorientated, he really wasn't sure where 'here' and 'there' was.

"Mom" he whispered, vocal chords loosening just enough, for him to form the word. She was there, just to his left, within his touch, if only he could lift his arm to reach. He moaned, face red and wincing, a vein standing out, as he fought the frustration and hold.

He could see the white of her night-dress that he thinks he remembers her wearing the night she died, blonde hair spread out, like the fire itself.

"Shh, sweetie" she said gently, looking out the side of her own eye, her body in the same fashion as Dean's, "I'm sorry I never got to speak to you before, but there wasn't time".

"Mom" he gasped, voice breaking, one tear forming and dropping to the bed below, "I don't understand…".

"You have to listen to me" she said, as desperation filled her voice, "This shouldn't have happened, it's not right" she paused, "It won't be good for you or me".

Panic and confusion filled his every pore, trying to decipher what his mother meant, but all he could think of was that he was pinned to a ceiling having a conversation with his very dead mother.

"I don't…" he began.

"I don't know what happened" she interrupted, "But I know if we stay like this, it can kill you… damage us both" she paused again, her own soft voice breaking, "Very bad things could follow… and I don't want to see you get hurt Dean".

A gasped "Dean" snapped his attention directly below and he realised Sam was stood below, a terrified look on his face.

"Sammy" his mother responded, a calmer voice overtaking her previous desperation, as she too looked down, "I need you to listen to what your brother tells you" she paused and smiled reassuringly at him, "you need to get help".

"Sam?" Dean asked confused and weary.

"Sammy" their mother continued, "Do something… before it's too late".

"What the…?" Sam asked, eyes bright with fear as he looked from mother to brother, before finally focusing on Dean, eyes boring into him.

"Dean!" voice now loud and yelling.

From his hold, he could see a small drop of blood fall slowly towards the floor, leaving a red stain on the edge of the white bed covers. He glanced tightly again, towards his mother as more drops freed themselves and dripped with a vengeance.

"It's O.K." she whispered ferociously, before flames ripped from her, branching out like a tree in the autumn and he couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp.

"Dean!" Sam now screamed.

Dean continued to be held tight against the ceiling, his focus drawn to Sam, as the flames, spread out across the room, licking up and around his body. The flames roared in his ears, not only drowning out the screams of his brother, but his too, until there was nothing left of him or the room.

"Holy Shit!" Sam exclaimed flying up form his bed, eyes wide, as his arm connected with the clock, sending it crashing to the floor. It flashed 4.30 wildly up at him, as if angered by the abrupt impact, "Dean!"

Dean thrashed on his own bed, sweat glistening his brow, as Sam threw himself from his sitting position, so that he was on his knees next to his bed, arms reaching for him.

"Dean!" he gently called as he, brusquely, grabbed his shaking and convulsing brother by the shoulders.

"SAMMY!" Dean suddenly screamed, shooting up in the bed as glassy eyes searched the room, and a shaky body tried to wrench himself free from Sam's tight hold.

"It's me" Sam said, letting go of Dean's shoulders and taking Dean's face into the palms of his hands, forcing him to lock eyes with his, "It's O.K, I'm here".

Dean instantly stilled his frantic movements and Sam could feel the burning cheeks as they bristled against his palms.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, sounding small and tired, "It was… I was… she…" stumbling to a stop, Dean's eye's widened and his hand flew to his mouth, with a shudder.

Recognising the signs, Sam let go of Dean and quickly reached for the small waste-paper basket, thankful for it being within easy reach, between the two beds, and placed it directly under Dean's quivering chin. Dean grabbed hold of it, seizing it tightly to him, knuckles white, as he violently threw-up, his whole body heaving and gagging, with every expulsion.

"Shh" Sam said gently, moving to Dean's side, so he could place a reassuring hand on his back, moving it around in small strokes, something that he had found comforting from both Dean and their father when he was younger, "Take it easy".

Keeping his hand on Dean's back, he looked away, slightly repulsed by the sight, sound and smell. He'd always been what Dean called a 'sympathetic sickie' and on a few occasions, when he was a kid, he had actually barfed at the sight of someone vomiting.

"I'm sorry" Sam said after Dean finally stopped heaving and remained panting over the waste-paper basket.

"For what?" Dean mumbled.

"Everything" Sam said, pitching himself off the bed, "This is all my fault. I never should have brought you here".

"Sam!" Dean hissed, head bowed, "We had to come!... and I'm so not in the mood for your usual 'everything in the whole god-dammed world is my fault' speeches!" he paused, feeling his energy drift away, so he kept his head resting on the rim of the basket, his stomach threatening to propel its contents, or whatever, if any, were left, "What am I? Incapacitated?"

"Yeah!" Sam said, sarcastically "Because you have been a whole lot of sane lately".

"Dude! Insults" Dean coughed, wincing and then looked up quickly, "Please tell me you weren't in my dream".

"What? The one where I watched our mother's insides open and burst into flames?" Sam asked, pacing in front of the bed, "the one where I watched my brother get engulfed by flames and burn up?".

Dean paled and gasped, gagging over the basket, but nothing came up and instantly Sam regretted his gruff and abrupt tone, stalling him and rooting him to the carpet.

"I'm sorry" Sam said, "It freaked me out too… but I don't think it was a dream or not a normal one anyway".

"Great" Dean sighed, "So I'm only one bucket of crazy instead of two".

"Nobody's any amount of crazy" Sam said, thinking his earlier comment had upset Dean, as he rounded the other side of the bed, grabbing the bags from the floor, and dumping them on to the table, loosening the clasps with one hand, while he dug in his Jean's pocket, with the other, pulling his cell-phone out as he hurriedly dialled a number.

"Sam?" Dean asked, briefly looking up.

But Sam ignored him as he paced the limited width of the room.

"Missouri!" Sam suddenly said, stopping, his hands running through his dishevelled hair, "I know I should have called sooner…"

"Boy" Missouri asked, "What's happened?"

Sam quickly described the details, from when Missouri left to finding himself watching Dean and their mother burning away on the ceiling and rounded the conversation with, "I don't know… this thing was freaky Missouri…"

"It'll be alright honey" Missouri interrupted, "Just get Dean here".

Sam snapped the phone shut and continued to fumble through the open bag.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, face still close to the waste-paper basket, but turned sideways, looking at him, "What are you doing?"

"Getting us out of here" Sam replied as he fingered one of the few clean tops that would keep off an early morning chill. Pulling the bulky material out, he realised, disheartened, that it was the same Hoodie Dean had worn when he had returned from the hospital after being electrocuted only a few months before, trussed-up inside, making him look even more smaller and vulnerable than he already was.

"We're leaving town?" Dean asked, hopefully, and somewhat shocked.

"No" Sam said, smiling sadly as he took hold of the top, and headed back to Dean, regretting his choice of words, "To Missouri's".

"O.H" Dean said, letting him pull the bin away, as he plumped the hooded top out and attempted to pull it on over Dean's head.

"Dude" Dean exclaimed, pulling his head through the opening and shaking it like a dog, glaring at Sam "I'm not out of action".

Sam didn't say anything and stepped back, but to Dean's dismay, his hands were too shaky and heavy and he fingered the material in humiliation, rolling it between thumb and finger. Silently Sam helped, gently pulling both arms through, and then tugged the top down, gently smoothing it.

Dean blinked up at him, again trussed up, the hood tucked behind his neck, looking confused, small, and fatigued. Yeah, Sam thought to himself, as he ruffled Dean's hair, that fabric softener teddy bear would just love you right about now.

Missouri stood in her kitchen, busying herself with brewing coffee, and organising mugs. A plate of cookies had been organised neatly on to a plate and had been placed on to the kitchen table, her cell-phone discarded near by.

She stalled her activities, hair rising on her neck, as intuition kicked in.

"John" She said, not turning, "You know better than to sneak up on a psychic".

"I don't sneak" a voice replied from behind, "I do stealth".

"Well it doesn't work on me" she replied, moving the mugs to the table, "You're up late… or is it early?".

"Just walked by the house… everything seemed o.k. there"

"Right, about that…" she started and then stopped abruptly, smiling brightly at him, turning back to the brewing coffee.

"Are you expecting company?" he asked, taking in the four mugs and cookies on the table.

"Yes" she said, her back still to him, "Your boys".

"What?" John suddenly exclaimed, "When… you know I can't", he suddenly backed up out of the kitchen and into the hallway, "I've got to get out of here".

"They're already on their way" Missouri calmly stated, glancing at her watch, "In fact they should be here any moment".

He was already heading for the door, hand deep in his pocket, as he struggled to pull out his keys.

"John Winchester!" Missouri exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch and volume, as she whipped around on her heel, following him "Your boys need you".

John came to an abrupt stop at Missouri's front door, and furiously turned back, storming up to Missouri, standing firmly at the back of the hall.

"You've blocked the garage in" He seethed, "goddammit… open it up".

"Why wont you talk to your boys?" she asked, her eyes sad and fiery, as John paced in front of her.

"I just can't" John simply said, his face crumbling, "I want to… just not yet. Not until I know", he tiredly ran a hand over his face, rubbing his stubble as he did so.

"They need you John" Missouri spoke to him, her small arm reaching out, and squeezing his arm gently.

They were startled apart, by the sound of a car, a low rumbling, as it came to a slow stop. Both froze where they stood, Missouri wondering what John was going to do, John because he didn't know what to do.

"Missouri" Sam suddenly yelled, darting through the doorway, and then suddenly stumbling to a stop at the sight before him.

"Sammy" John breathed out, his voice sounding croaky and strangled in his throat.

Sam took slow and deliberate hesitated steps, mouth slightly agape, and then took several more forceful strides, swinging out, fist tight and hard, as it connected sharply with John's chin. The force was sharp and strong as it snapped his head sideways, and he instantly tasted blood on his lips, as Sam's face swam into focus, a snarl on his face.

He didn't get a chance to respond or move because Sam's hands bunched up tightly snagging the material of his green jacket in a vice like hold and he found himself being pushed viciously against the hard wooden panels.

"You fucking bastard!" Sam spat at him, "Not one fucking word except for your damn fucking coordinates! Do you know what you've done? Do you know what you've done to Dean?"

"Sammy" John tried to get out, but with every shove and shake, his head reeled from snapping hard back against the wall, "Stop"

"No" Sam hotly replied, "You don't get to…"

A gasp from behind, caused Sam to instantly let go of his hold as he kept one hand still grasping his jacket, as he turned around, and John caught sight of his oldest son standing in the hallway.

"Dad?" Dean asked, face pale as a fleeting hurt look crossed his features, before he blinked and glanced away.

"Son" John replied, taking in his ragged appearance.

"Dean?" Sam asked, "You. O.K"

Dean turned and faced them again. There was no warning, no imminent sign of what was to come, Dean's eyes just simply rolled to the back of his head, his body crumbling, as he smashed down hard against Missouri's hallway table, legs splintering under the impact, sending various items skittering away, as they both crashed to the floor, a mixture of broken wood and entangled limbs.


	6. Chapter 6

Fly to the Angels  
Chapt 6?  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)  
PG13- language warning.  
A/N: WIP - Another take on 'Home', only this time Dean freaks out and can't bring himself to go into the house. Spoilers for Home, Faith, Benders.  
Disclaimer: Supernatural and then guys are not mine. This is not for profit

I tried not to make it sob-worthy over-dramatic melodrama oscar worthy antics. Although it was a fine line...

Thanks for all the support and reviews! Now on with the Dean whuppage .')

Chapter 6

Sam moved quickly, stumbling and skidding, across the smooth polished floor, on his knees, to Dean's side.

"Dean?" he asked, gently lifting his head with one hand, fingers resting in his hair, away from the sharp and brittle wood, "Come on, talk to me man".

Dean remained silent though, completely oblivious to the carnage around his prone form, face pale and cold-white, a far cry from the obvious heat radiating off him, the back of his head damp with clammy sweat.

"What the hell happened?" John asked, slowly moving over to his sons as Sam gently swatted at Dean's face with light fingers.

"Back off!" Dean snapped, refusing to face, his back tense, "Just stay away from him".

"Sam!" John said, voice rising with an aggrieved glare to his eyes and fury to his up-turned lips, "Who do you think you're…"

"That's enough!" a voice shot out, loud and decisive, and both Sam and John turned towards Missouri, Sam still on his knees, clutching hold of Dean tightly, and John standing over them, an ironic mixture of worry and anger etched over his face, "You two are NOT getting into this NOW!".

She stalked out of the room and both Winchesters, son and father, visibly winced with the harsh sounds of doors and objects being slammed.

"Sammy?" John asked again, more softly.

Suddenly with an abrupt flair of an entrance, Missouri stalked back in, face hard and set. She pushed John aside, gingerly stepping over the snapped and broken wood. She glanced down at the youngest Winchester, seeing a worried and protective gleam to his eyes. Her own eyes instantly softened, as she too, lowered herself to the floor.

"Lets see to your brother" she said, gently pulling a small clear vial from her pocket, loosening the cap with her hands, "Smelling salts" she explained when she saw Sam's eyes tighten with suspicion.

Sam continued to knee by his brother's right side, one hand and arm cupping Dean's head, the other resting gently against his chest. He nodded his approval to Missouri.

"Dean, honey" Missouri, called gently, slowly waving the vial, wafting the strong, eye watering crystals, under his nose, back and fourth, "It's o.k.".

Dean moaned, rolling his head, across Sam's arm, left then right, pushing himself further into Sam's body, head falling into the gap between Sam's outreached arm and bent leg.

"Hey… shh, it's o.k." Sam murmured, pushing his arm around further, so that he was half hugging Dean to his body, arm hooked around his shoulder, "You with me bro?"

Dean didn't respond at first, except for a hand, trapped between his own body and Sam's knee, fingers dragging and trying to grasp hold of the stretched, tight, and worn jeans.

"Dean, man, talk to me".

Eyes fluttered open and blinked a few times, glancing sideways to see Missouri kneeing on his other side and … his father… looming above him. He shut his eyes tight again, groaning, and turned back into the crook of Sam's arm.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

"-M fine" Dean mumbled, against Sam's shirt, "Eyes hurt"

"Just take it easy" Sam whispered down, throwing one glance towards their father, "Wanna sit up?"

"If I barf, you loose" Dean agreed, reaching up with one hand and grabbing hold of Sam's shoulder. He let Sam pull him, so that they were sitting up, Sam on his knees, Dean on his backside, legs drawn up slightly, "So far, so good" he glanced back at Missouri and John, "Missouri, Dad".

"Son" John replied gruffly, "That was some kind of entrance you made there".

"… Yeah" Dean agreed, glancing at Missouri and the wooden mess surrounding them, "Sorry about that Missouri".

Missouri pushed herself up, breaking into laughter, half bent as she brushed her trousers down, "That old thing" she asked, "Don't be silly young man, it wouldn't have lasted the week anyway".

Feeling his father's scrutiny, Dean felt compelled to stand, and levering himself against Sam's shoulder, pushed himself up. He swayed slightly as he stood to his full height, vertigo playing with his mind, and Sam was instantly stood by his side, putting an arm out to brace him. Dean shrugged him off, searching his father's eyes out, as he stood his ground.

Dean was something else, Sam thought to himself, it didn't matter what happened or who did it, because out of the ruins and wreckage, bruised and broken, Dean had always stood in a realm where the strong and quick alone can survive.

"Why don't we go into the living room" Missouri said, taking hold of Dean's arm, "You should sit down… we can talk about why you're here".

Sam let Missouri pull Dean away, his numb fingers brushing slightly against Dean's oversized hoodie, leaving a dark and empty void between father and son.

"Sam!" Missouri stated firmly.

"Yeah" he said, breaking eye contact with John, as he moved away and followed Missouri and Dean into the room, John silently moving after them.

Missouri gently pushed Dean into the couch, his body slumping and sagging so much, that there was no room, on either side, for anyone else to sit. She moved out of the way, allowing Sam to perch himself on the arm of the chair, staying close to Dean.

Still standing and looking down, smiling sadly, Missouri said, "Boy, what have you done to yourself?"

"Mind telling me?" John asked, leaning in the doorway, arms resting tight across his chest, "Cuz I seem left out of the loop".

"Well maybe if you'd involved yourself a bit more, you'd know" Sam snapped.

"Sam" Dean warned, arm sneaking up tiredly, squeezing his shoulder, "Leave it alone".

"You haven't just arrived have you?" Sam said ignoring Dean's attempt and pacification

"Sam!" Dean hissed out this time.

"No" John answered Sam's question, his words were unflinching, but his eyes avoidant.

Dean instantly quietened, his hand dropping heavily to his side.

"When?" Sam asked.

"As soon as I got Dean's call" he admitted, "I wasn't too far away".

"Where were you?" Sam asked, continuing the interrogation.

"Not too far… a job a few miles east…"

"Not what I meant" Sam's voice hardened even more, reflecting the same harshness in his eyes, "Where were you when we needed you, when Dean needed you… Jeez Dad, he asked for your help!"

"I was here Sam" John replied firmly, "I kept an eye on everything".

Sam snorted and Dean grimaced, hand rubbing his head as the battle of the words continued. Dean didn't have the energy to wade in this time.

"But you didn't… otherwise you'd have known about" he paused, hand gesturing to Dean slumped in the couch like a used and abused rag-doll, "this".

"Which brings me back to my original question" John commanded.

"I've been possessed by Mom" Dean suddenly exclaimed and as if the sudden thought sounded insanely ludicrous, a bubble of hysterical laughter erupted from him.

"What!" John asked, straightening and standing to attention.

"It seems" Missouri spoke up, "Your son has an, mutual, unwanted guest".

Dean had, somehow, changed his position; He was now taking up more room of the couch, his body half slumped across it with one leg hanging off it lazily. A cool and wet flannel, that Missouri had provided, lay resting over his brow.

Sam had resigned to the fact that Dean was oblivious the how much room he was taking and continued to sit precariously, and close to Dean, on the edge.

"Possessions and attachments are two different things" Missouri explained, 2Dean isn't possessed by Mary… it's more like her energy, so to speak, has attached itself to Dean's".

"I don't understand" John said, "How?"

"It wasn't intentional" Missouri said, "From what Sam told me… it appears May used her own energy to destroy the dark spirit that was residing in your house. That probably would have destroyed Mary to, but it seems that Dean intercepted and" she paused, glancing at the two youngest, "Well it would seem Mary and Dean connected".

"Because of the white light?" Sam asked, "The energy?"

"Yes and no" she answered, "the light – her energy, would be a certain factor, but there do have to be a certain requirements for a possessed or an attachment".

"Like what?" Sam asked.

Missouri sighed, knowing inadvertently, that she was highlighting some of Dean's inadequate coping mechanisms and own insecurities.

"It could be anything" she paused, glancing at Dean and his limp body and closed eyes, knowing full well he was awake, "like anxiety, stress, isolation. They seem to occur when your defences are down. Vulnerability and withheld emotions play an important part and you can, unknowingly invite them, by thought alone, just by not wanting them to go".

"What about the dream?" Sam asked, "I mean if you can call it a dream. I mean how did we both…?"

"Sleep and dreams can be powerful tools" Missouri said, "Spirits have been known to communicate through dreams. Sometimes you realise, sometimes you don't. Dean may have simply reached out to you in fear, or your own precognition picked it up".

Sam nodded and he looked down, his hand hovering over Dean's frame, fingers flexing, before he let it fall back to his side.

"So what Mom said" Sam continued, his face full of pinched worry and concern, "It's true?"

"It makes sense" Missouri nodded gravely, "Attachments, just like possessions, drain energy, slowly destroying them, from the inside out. Eventually it will destroy the spirit too. Mary's kind of trapped there" she paused before going on, "Dreams become consuming, headaches debilitating, he may find himself falling into terrifying uncontrollable trances. He may also experience extreme volatile emotion and mood changes … both from the spirit itself and his own emotional and mental state battling it out" she paused again and smiled, "Mary's sure fighting tooth and nail in not letting that happen mind".

"And…?" Sam asked his final question.

"And" Missouri continued, knowing what it was, "when a spirit or anything attaches itself it leaves you open for more. Sometimes they just hang around watching and waiting," she paused, "and boy, he sure is popular tonight".

Dean opened one eye, glancing at Missouri, "Dean's place. Spiritual Bar of the Year".

"Mary's in him?" John spoke up, finding his voice.

Missouri suddenly tensed, looking uncomfortable, as John looked at her.

"Not really John" she said, "I said her energy was attached".

"Her soul" John confirmed.

Missouri, still tense, shrugged uncomfortably.

John moved into the room, eyes looking, upon his oldest son. Sensing his father, Dean put a hand to the flannel, keeping it in place, pushing himself up, so that he was sitting with elbows resting on his knees.

"Don't you dare" Missouri suddenly exclaimed, anger littering her voice, causing Sam to jump, as John came to a stop in front of Dean, bending down to his eye level.

"What's she saying Dean?" John asked.

They stared at each other as John bored into Dean's weak, watery and pained eyes.

"I don't… I don't know" he stuttered, hand still resting against his brow, "Nothing I guess.

He couldn't have sound convincing John just shook his head in response.

"C'mon Dean" John reprimanded, taking fold of dean's arm, "Does she know anything?"

"I don't know!" Dean shot back, rubbing at his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Dad" Sam quietly said, hand reaching Dean's taught shoulder, tightly reassuring him, "Leave it for now".

"Please Dean!" John exclaimed, exasperated, ignoring Sam's quiet plea and Dean's distress, "What does she have to say?" he paused, his own voice catching in his throat, "Has she got anything to say to me?"

Dean suddenly wrenched his arm free, voice rising, both hands grabbing at his head, "Shut up! All of You!"

John, shocked by Dean's reaction, stumbled backwards, legs hitting the small coffee table.

"Is she…" he gestured weakly to Dean, "Can you hear her now?"

"God! Shut up, shut up, shut up" Dean exclaimed, coming to an abrupt stop, biting his lip hard, "I'm sorry he whispered".

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, hand still clutching Dean's shoulder.

"I'm fine" Dean said tightly, "Just had a moment there".

Sam kept his hand there though, unsure of the hard-set eyes and even tenser frame that had suddenly overtook Dean's body,

"You never once called" Dean spoke quietly, staring at their father, "Just coordinates here and there. I call you and you never fucking call back", although his voice was cool and calm, laced with seething dangerous anger, it still hitched towards the end.

"Dean!" Sam said, but Dean roughly pulled out of his grasp, pushing himself up with one arm, one hand still holding the flannel in place.

"I thought you were dead" he hissed out, the hand at his side balled tight, "Sam called you when I was sill, I called you about coming here… Didn't you think I might want to just hear your voice telling me it was going to be o.k." he was a roll now, his anger, hate and emotions bubbling away like a pan of over-boiled water, "Do you even give a damn about me?"

John didn't reply at first, stunned into silence as Sam stood, next to Dean, equally shocked by the out-of-character honest outburst.

"See" John said, finally speaking, "This is why I wanted him kept out of the house".

Now it was Dean's turn to be stunned and shocked as he realised that one of the reasons Missouri had so desperately wanted Dean to stay away was simply because their father had wanted it like that.

"Sometimes it's really hard" Dean found himself saying, quietly, the damp flannel, dropping heavily to the floor, his recent words to Layla Roarke ringing clearly through his head, hitting him hard in the chest, " to believe in something so much, to have it disappoint you like that".

"Disappoint you?" John asked incredulously, "How about the fact that you didn't even tell me about Sam's abilities. Instead I find out from Missouri" he paused, voice gruff, "It should have been you son".

Dean's eyes widened and his breath quickened, blinding and heated anger filled him to the core and he, without thinking, reached out and grabbed the nearest object. It turned out to be a pretty, small, ornate vase that he launched right out of his hand, sending it like a missile as it shot past John's head and shattered into small, sharp, jagged pieces. He couldn't bring himself to say anything; instead, he pushed past Sam and marched out of the room.

"Shit!" John exclaimed, hand wearily rubbing at his own face, "Dean I didn't mean…" he started to follow through the open doorway.

"Leave him" Sam shot, "I'll go".

He walked from the room and caught Dean striding down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Dean" he called, as he broke out in to a run, but the bathroom door was slammed tight with an audible click, by the time he'd even got there.


	7. Chapter 7

Fly to the Angels  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, an estranged father, and his own mother.  
PG13- language warning.  
Prompt: Pat Benatar (Love is Battlefield)'no promises, no demands'.  
Disclaimer: Supernatural and them guys are not mine. This is not for profit

A/N: I giggled buckets of crazy over one line (I'll let you decide if it's any good) but it did make me wonder how would Mary react 'to Dean's sexual predatory thinking process.'?

Tis a good question!

And to all of you lovely peeps who have reviewed, faved' and alerted the story… I love you all very much. Purehalo – you may slap John now, if you want…

Chapter 7

Sam remained standing outside Missouri's ground floor bathroom. He was pushed up to the door, his body pressing tight against it, as one hand rested flat, palm splayed out, face turned so his ear lay tightly there. A blatant attempt at picking up and detecting his brother's movements.

"Dean, open the door" Sam instructed, for the seventh time, panic and exasperation playing at the edges of his voice, "Please".

There was silence again. To Sam it felt like the longest period of time – not being able to hear or see Dean – painful and overpowering, when in fact it was probably all of one minute.

"Goddammit Dean!" he shouted, hand pulling back before thumping the door with a heavy thud, "I just want to know if your o.k."

He knew it was a stupid thing to ask, of course he wasn't o.k., otherwise he wouldn't be standing here trying to coax Dean out of a bathroom.

"-M o.k." came a muffled reply through the door, "Just leave me alone Sam".

"I can't Dean" Sam replied, slowly turning his head, never loosing touch or connection, so that his forehead rested against it, "You're stuck with me".

Again silence remained and his eyes closed as he imagined Dean on the other side of the door, lost and alone, so he chose to continue.

"You don't want to talk" Sam observed the silent door between them, "That's fine, don't. Just listen to what I have to say then".

"Sam" Dean warned in a muffled pissed off voice.

"Let me talk!" Sam snapped, "I know this is hard. I get that this is difficult, weird, freaky… painful. And you're not in this on your own" he paused letting the words seep through the sturdy and unrelenting door, "What hurts you, hurts me bro".

No words were spoken in reply, but Sam wondered if the small, non-descript, noise he thought he heard, was possibly Dean sniffling his tears back.

"I'm not going to make excuses for him" San continued, "I'm sorry you missed, he deserved it. In fact, I'll go and finish it for you – I'm pretty sure I saw some dangerous looking vases back there" he pushed away from the door, letting his feet carry him backwards.

Just as he turned on his heel, away from the door, towards the direction of the living room, there was a small click of a lock being released, and Sam smiled, knowing he had pushed the right buttons. He turned back to the still closed door and pushed it open, revealing a stiff and tense Dean, shoulders up high, and arms and hands down low, into his pockets.

He was blinking, eyes slightly bloodshot, as if he had been trying to chase the unwanted sting of tears away.

"Hey" Sam said attentively, stepping over the threshold and joining his brother in the bathroom, "You o.k.?"

"Just freaking peachy" Dean mumbled, moving over to the tub and sliding down the porcelain edge, one hand coming out of his pocket, to wearily rub at his hair, "I'm an overly emotional freak. A new one for me".

Sam closed the door lightly behind him, before taking a few steps closer to Dean, before sliding down next to him, their shoulders touching. The coldness of the tub was sharp and nipping through his shirt.

"None of this is your fault" Sam said as they both stared out across the bathroom towards the white spotless wall, "You heard what Missouri said… there's no control over it".

"Right" Dean snorted, hand moving from his hair until his palm rested against the side of his head, "So it's all mom's fault?"

"I didn't mean it like that…" Sam began, realising Dean still was in his throes of said uncontrollable emotions.

"No" Dean said quietly, voice small, "I didn't willingly invite her into me, you know?"

Sam snaked a hand up and squeezed his arm tightly.

"A lot of it was words" Sam reassured him, "It's not an exact science, you know that".

Dean didn't shake away from the touch; instead he pulled his legs up, knees tight against his chest, arms hugging them into place.

"Maybe I've gone Bipolar" Dean muttered.

"You're angry and pissed off" Sam chuckled lightly, "Not manic".

"Premenstrual then" Dean muttered, head down, words mumbled into his knees, "Whatever dude, same thing".

"You're not a girl" Sam said rolling his eyes.

"We'll I feel like one" Dean grumbled, "A freaky emotional one".

Sam moved his hand up gently, from Dean's arm, leaving it to rest across his shoulders, wondering if Dean was just being over-dramatic because of the inability to suppress his emotions or if he really did feel like a woman, with their mother's energy roaming through him.

"This is like a fucking hallmark movie" Dean continued, "The weirdest freaking one ever. They better get the right girl to play me. I'm not having a dense chick that spends her time screaming and crying on the bad guys shoulder".

Sam glanced at him and broke into a smile – this was not one of their usual conversations, but then this wasn't a usual situation.

"Nobody fugly either" Dean continued, "Should be someone like Faith from Buffy. Kicking ass and looking good all the way. Man she's hot".

Yep, Sam thought, Dean's all man as he was pretty sure that if he was still thinking with his downstairs brain in a situation like this, it confirmed it. He briefly wondered if their mother's presence reacted to Dean's sexual predatory thinking process.

"Right" Sam said, shoulder's shaking with self-restrained laughter, "So who'd play me?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Dean said, glancing up at him, "You're already there – all you need is a hit of mascara and some blusher" his hand reached up and half-heartedly swatted at Sam's face, "You've got beautiful eyes Sammy".

"Shut up" Sam said, slapping his hand away, "You're giving me make-up advice now?"

"Someone has to" Dean smiled back at him in a look that Sam could only describe as an annoying 'I'm having the last word' look.

"Was it expensive?" Dean suddenly asked, returning back to the position he was initially in.

"Was what expensive?" Sam asked, arm still resting across Dean's shoulders.

"Whatever I threw" Dean clarified, "I didn't stop to see what it was".

Sam shrugged, arms rising, before making a noise in the back of his throat.

"Gurh is not even a word Sam"

"It was… small" Sam said unhelpfully.

A bubble of laughter broke out of Dean, light, as it fluttered across the bathroom.

"Does Missouri do credit?" he joked miserably.

"You seriously need a collateral damage warning" Sam said, quietly beside him, "The words Bull. China. Shop, ring any bells?"

"No, how about Annoying. Kid. Brother?" Dean grumbled.

"I wouldn't worry" Sam reassured him, "I'm pretty sure someone would have done the same thing if you hadn't".

They fell into a stretched silence as neither moved, sitting tucked up against the side of the tub, one tense, knees bent, body hunched, the other with long legs spewed out. Sam couldn't remember the last time they had sat this close together without in entailing one unconscious brother and it warmed him at how natural it felt.

"When are you going to actually talk about it?"

"There's nothing to say Sam" Dean stiffly replied, "It was all pretty much said anyway".

"You can talk to me about it if you want" Sam continued, "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about".

Dean shook his head, face swivelling across his knees, as he hunted Sam's eyes.

"I'm not embarrassed" Dean said, eyes flashing, "I was angry. I lost control. Nuff said".

"Dean…" Sam warned.

"Dude, seriously" Dean snapped, "I said it all in there, like a freaking girl. I don't need to say anything more, not to you".

"I'm sorry" Sam said quietly, words spoken carefully.

"Don't" Dean commanded tiredly, before looking away and pushing his face into his worn jean's again, "You've done nothing wrong Sammy".

He stared down at the tip of his boots, visible just beyond his knees and studied the scuff mark, that littered over his left foot. It was soft with light white and grey shading like a rain cloud receding in an already darkening night. His anger and ever changing current of emotions appeared to be fading in a similar fashion.

"Do you think I should apologise?" he whispered, glancing at Sam, unsure of the words that had fallen out of his mouth, especially since Sam had adopted a wide coke-bottled-eyed look.

"I think… I think… you should talk to him" Sam said, "Both of us, civilly, if that's possible" he laughed at his own choice of words realising that his own reunion with his father today had, in fact, been an almost continuation, physically, of the last time he had seen him, the day he had left for Stanford.

"Sure" Dean said, lifting his head, so it was leant backwards, trapping Sam's arm as he looked up at the ceiling, "And when was the last time that happened?"

"I'll give it ago" Sam said, catching the quick sideways glance and raised eyebrow Dean threw at him, "We're in this together" Sam said, repeating his words from earlier.

Sam looked around and realised they'd hardly moved, bodies close, brother to brother, no promises, no demands. This, Sam thought, was pretty assuring amidst all the chaos. Sam and Dean had spent countless times comforting the other, through the sudden appearance of a day old breakfast or the rare over-indulgence of alcohol and then of course there was the DIY patch-ups and hastily implemented first aid.

Although at ease with Dean in a scenario like this, Sam's legs suddenly felt heavy and laden and all he really wanted was to stand and shake the crampy feeling from his legs.

"It's you and me. I've got your back and you've got mine" Sam said.

"I know that" Dean said, next to him, quietly.

Sam wasn't sure if Dean was aware that he was doing it, but he felt him press a bit harder, his side leaning, just ever so slightly, into him. He didn't miss the wince of pain and the hand at his head either, fingertips at his brow, touching lightly.

"You want me to get you something for that?" Sam asked with concern, hating the pinched and pained look emanating from Dean's tight face.

Dean shook his head, hand remaining in place, eyes shut tight.

"Dean, if you're in…" Sam began.

"I don't want to mask her" Dean cut in, voice sounding strained.

"What?" Sam asked, studying him, he desperately wanted to tighten his arm around Dean's form, but wondered when Dean would suddenly revert out of his funk and slap his arm away with 'dude, that move is so old'.

"I don't want to take anything that will mask her" Dean repeated, his own voice becoming steadier, "I want to be able to hear her. I want to be able to feel her. It hurts like a bitch, but I haven't felt her, not like this, for 22 years".

"You do realise" Sam said slowly, voice low, gentle, careful, as if he was a doctor who was breaking bad and unwanted news, "that she can't… I mean her energy… stay in you".

When Dean didn't reply, Sam shook him hard, "Dean!"

"I know" Dean said with a sigh, "I just want this connection while I still can".

"Yeah… sure" Sam said unsure of Dean's words, they didn't hold the same conviction they had held only minutes before, "But if it gets worse I'll be forcing it down your throat".

Dean glanced at him, eyebrows fully rising, as he smiled bemusedly.

"Dude, didn't realise they did 'Dictatorship' at college" he retorted.

"You're mistaking it for Dean Winchester 101: Stubborn Big Brothers Who Have a Penchant for Face-planting Before Taking Action" Sam snarked back to him.

"You're a funny guy Sammy" Dean laughed dryly next to him, "My sides are splitting".

"It's Sam" Sam shot back, "And at least I'm not funny looking".

"O.k. I take it back" Dean said, eyes growing wide, "You're funny in the head".

"Listen" Sam said, letting their painful banter slide, "Can we get out of here? My ass has gone to sleep".

Dean let his arms slide down his body, fingers resting on the floor, taught.

"Sure" he said, pushing himself up, realising he didn't have the leverage to continue. His hand shot out and caught the rim of the tub, bracing himself, as he embarrassingly felt hands push at his backside, until he was straightened.

"Dude, I know I have a cute hiny" Dean exclaimed, turning to face Sam, "But that's just wrong".

"I think I can resist you Dean" Sam said, reaching his own arms up and behind as they sought out the tub.

"That's what they all say" he said, rolling his eyes. His own hands clasped around Sam's elbow, tugging hard, so that Sam came up in one swift movement, "We should go talk to Missouri and Dad. Find out what…" he paused, his lips trying to form the right words, "I have to do".

"We" Sam corrected, "And, yes, we should".

Sam walked the few steps to the door, clasping the handle as he opened it, and headed out into the hallway.

Dean slowly followed, watching his brother stride in front of him, one giant step to every two of his own, and he wondered when his baby brother suddenly became so strong.

Sam slowed slightly, closing the gap between them, until they were only a fingertip touch away from each other. He paused, stopping so that he remained in front of Dean, behind the closed living room door, enabling Dean to get a hold of himself, as they both prepared to face Missouri and their father again.

Just as Sam was about to reach for the door handle he felt his arm suddenly get pulled back, Dean's fingers tight in his sleeve.

"Dude" he whispered, leaning into Sam's stalled body

"What is it Dean?" he whispered back, concerned.

"I just wanted to let you know" he spoke quietly, breaths tickling Sam's ear, "that you've used up all of your chick-flick moments to last a life time".

Sam rolled his eyes and didn't respond.

"Come on dude" Dean suddenly exclaimed, giving him a shove, "Do you need to be wound up or something… open the door"

And they braced themselves as they re-entered the room that they had hastily left only half an hour ago.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Fly to the Angels  
Chapt 8?  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, an estranged father, and his own mother.

PG13- language warning.

A/N: I know some of you lovely readers wondered how Mary would react to John and his parenting skills/his relationship with the boys… well it's written, as a rough draft and will be up in the next chapter. I was intending to have it in this one… but time flew and I'm actually surprised that I got this typed up today. Go figure!

Chapter 8

Sam and Dean re-entered the living room to find both John and Missouri tense and flush. John now sat in the seat Dean had vacated, eyes down cast, face taught. Missouri stood, not too far away, leaning against the wall, near the window, staring intently at their father.

Words, Dean surmised, had been shared.

John looked up, startled as Sam came back in, closely followed by Dean. He shuffled closely to Sam, letting him lead a path around the coffee table.

"Dean" John said, standing up, "What I said… I didn't…" he stumbled over the words, not used to apologising.

Dean came to a stop, and studied their father thoughtfully across the room, and then slowly nodded.

"It's o.k." he mumbled, pushing past Sam to the small desk, on the other side of Missouri, in front of the window. He pulled the chair out and across the side, slumping down on it, and resting his elbows on the side of the desk. He caught the look that Sam gave him, which seemed to say 'No, it's not' but was relived when Sam didn't push it any further.

John slowly lowered himself back into the couch, "Are you o.k.?" he asked his son.

"I'll be fine" Dean replied, messaging his temple as another sharp ache ripped through his head, causing to breathe out sharply.

He felt Sam move across the remainder of the room, and crouch down next to him, resting a hand on his arm.

"Dean, I really think you should…" he began.

"I said no" Dean replied stiffly.

"What?" John asked, observing his two sons and what appeared to be a coded conversation.

"Nothing" They both replied simultaneously, as they glanced up at him.

"Please, Dean…" John began.

"Missouri" Dean suddenly exclaimed, breaking eye contact with John and ignoring his pleas, "I can't go around like this forever."

Missouri looked away from John on the couch to his son. Sam stood up and walked around Dean, squeezing in between him and the window, even though it was obviously too cramped for his tall frame.

"Yes" she said, "Of course."

She walked past the Winchester's to a book case on the other side of the room where she ran her hand along the shelf until she came across one in particular, pulling out a small book and blowing a dusty cloud from it. She headed back around the table, pausing slightly, to hand it to Sam.

"Like I said before" she said returning to her original position, "If Mary's energy… her soul… whatever you want to call it, stays inside of Dean, then they will both be destroyed and there will be nothing left of Mary at all.

Sam looked at the front cover of the book. It looked firm and fresh – either this book was quite new or it hadn't seen much use. It was simply entitled 'Spirits and the other side'.

"So, what do we do?" he asked, turning his face to look at her.

"Well" she paused, "We have to find a way to release her".

The way she said it, so easily and simple, Sam thought, made it sound like this was a common occurrence.

"An exorcism?" Sam asked.

"No Sam" Missouri corrected, "Being possessed and being attached are two different things. In an exorcism you casting the demons out – commanding them to leave. In a spirit detachment, you lead the spirit to the light" she paused considering her words, "You help them on their, natural, path."

Missouri sighed loudly and rubbed at her own head, "Some spirits become trapped between worlds, like limbo, and have been waiting for someone with that path – and – some have been unable to move on because of unfinished business or entanglements. Some believe that withheld emotions, negativity, entanglements within relationships between the living" she paused, glancing at John, letting her words sink in" or the dead contribute to spirits being unable to move on.

"Don't mean to be rude" Dean spoke up, bleary eyed, "But I'm hearing a lot of words and no solutions".

She turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I know you're feeling under the weather Dean, but it's rude to interrupt".

"I wouldn't need to if you cut all the bull and got on with it!" he shot at her.

"Dean!" Sam warned, "She's trying to help".

"I would rail on you for speaking like that in my house" Missouri said, smiling at him, "But you're mother's doing a pretty good job of it".

Dean gulped and looked own, finding the table easier to focus on, aware of both his father and Sam staring at him.

"You'll find a few incantations in the book that should help" Missouri continued, "and you'll probably need some salt for purification, several white candles for spiritual white light and some holy water" she paused, "But a lot of this is going to be up to you Dean".

"What… what do you mean?" Dean asked, voice quiet, as he gulped nervously at the sympathetic smile she now held.

"Candles, purification, they can only do so much" Missouri explained, "Incantations help – open doorways – but you will have to surround yourself, spiritually, with light too".

"And how do I do that?" Dean scoffed at her, hand now rubbing and tracing the wooden patterns across the desk.

"By… believing in it" Missouri exclaimed, emphasising with a wide gesture of her arms, "See it – all around you – it will open you up to the other side".

Dean looked up at her, eyes squinting, suspiciously.

"Other side?" he asked.

"Mary can not actively detach herself from you Dean" Missouri continued, "Someone, that will be you, will have to take her and show her the way, to the threshold."

"Wait a minute" Sam spoke up, voice alarmed and concerned, "Dean's actually got to 'pass over'? I mean, I don't really like the sound of where this is heading".

Dean turned and glanced at Sam, an amused smile playing at the edge of his face as Sam, yet again kicked into protective, and questioning, mode. Irritation and anger bubbled not too far away as he thought to himself that it should be their father throwing the concerned parental objections out and not his baby brother.

"Chill, dude" Dean said, swatting him on the leg.

"He's got to lead her to the light, to the threshold," Missouri spoke to Sam, "But, he'll be grounded, connected, back to you and the incantation".

"See, dude" Dean grinned at him, "Nothing to worry about, you just need to pull your psychic rabbit trick out of the hat".

"Dude" Sam warned him, thumping him gently on the arm, before looking at Missouri again, "Me?"

"Yes" she said, "In most detachments, it can be done remotely – away form the original setting, but because of the unusual circumstances – Dean stepping into Mary's energy, the house, you being present, well I think you should go back there".

"You?" Sam asked, "Not we?"

He looked at both Missouri and their father, sitting there silent and brooding, as he ran a hand through his hair and then over his face. Godammit, Sam thought to himself, anger and frustration spreading out of him like a wild flare, why doesn't he say something!

"I'm sorry honey" Missouri said sadly, "But I think if I or your father were there, it might upset the balance of things".

"You think?" Dean asked incredulously with a hint of frustration, "But you don't know".

"No, Dean, I don't" Missouri agreed, "But I do know when to trust my feelings".

"Like how you 'thought' I should stay away from the house?" Dean asked, sarcastically, staring her straight in the eye, anger building up within him.

Sam would have put a reassuring hand on Dean's arm and murmured a warning, whi8ch was becoming quite frequent in the past few days, but instead he stared at their father, head bowed and involuntarily flinched.

"You're father had nothing to do with this decision" Missouri stated firmly, meeting Dean's stare with her own fiery one.

"So it's a decision now!" Dean said, voice rising.

"Dean, hey" Sam said, turning back to his brother, realising Dean was transferring his anger of their father to Missouri. He placed his hand back on Dean's shoulder and squeezed lightly, noticing the clammy sweat that had broken out on his skin, "Take it easy".

Dean wrenched himself away from Sam, swaying unsteadily on the seat, one hand flying back to his head, the other covering his mouth and nose.

"Fuck" he exclaimed, breathlessly, "Shit! Can you smell it?"

"Whoa" Sam said, instantly moving and pulling Dean upwards against his own body, "Are you o.k.?"

"It's strong" Dean moaned low, licking his lips, "I can taste it".

"What is it?" Sam asked, leaning away from the window, head down low, beside Dean's face, "I can't smell anything".

Dean continued to breathe in deeply and Sam felt the occasional shudder rip through him.

"Cinnamon" Dean said, frowning in concentration, "and… nutmeg I guess".

Nobody missed the gasp that came from John, across the other side of the room, pale with startled eyes.

"Mary… your mother" he began, gruff voice wavering, "she loved cinnamon and nutmeg. Had it with everything" he paused and rubbed at his stubble, "She used to make the best rice pudding – then when she was expecting you Dean, well she just kind of lost the taste for it, and she never did get back into it".

Dean stared at John, their eyes meeting, both cloudy and pained.

"Missouri?" Sam asked, turning slightly to look at her, but keeping his body against Dean's, allowing his brother to have the support he needed.

"It's not uncommon" she said, standing away from the wall, observing Dean, her head tilted, "taste, smells, memories. Pretty standard for an attachment".

"Pretty standard, huh?" Dean laughed weakly, "I've already barfed once today thanks".

"So it has to be me" Sam said, distracting everyone from the fact that Dean was smelling and tasting their mother's memories.

"Yes it does" Missouri confirmed, "And you're the best person to do it."

"I am?" Sam asked, aware that Dean was shivering so he rubbed his arm up and down with his own hand.

"Yes" she said walking past them all to stand on the other side of the coffee table, nearest the door, "for one thing, Dean trusts and loves you, your love for him will hold a lot of protection, but you have a powerful gift and some people say that the best people for a detachment process are 'spiritual warriors doing battle with unseen forces'" she paused and smiled at him, "I think that sums you up".

She didn't miss the look John gave her, sharp and uncomfortable, while Sam straightened and glanced at her with a blend of mesmerised curiosity.

"We should get some sleep, especially you Dean" she said, giving Dean a firm and stern look, "You should go back there this evening – the spiritual energy should be stronger at night" she turned and walked out of the room, "I'm going up, there's sheets in the cupboard down the hall, you boys take the guest room upstairs, John you have the couch".

Sam pulled Dean to his feet and they both walked out of the room, leaving John silent and sitting, as they headed out after Missouri.

"Night boys" she said, "And no arguing".

"Thought you were going to apologise?" Sam asked.

He was sat on a comfortable chair, letting the warming early morning sun, shine on his face. He leafed through the book Missouri had given him.

"No, I considered it" Dean mumbled tiredly, "Then I de-considered it."

He was lying facedown on the bed, arms clutching the pillow tightly; boots kicked of lazily and discarded on the floor at the bottom of the bed.

Sam grinned from his seat, "You want another round, I'll keep score."

"Dude, lay off him" Dean said quietly from his prone position on the bed.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked, shocked, "I know you may have only said those things and got worked up like that because of all this shit affecting you but it was still you and he still deserved it".

Dean turned his head sideways, on the pillow, to look at him.

"Yes, I'm still angry and pissed" he said staring at Sam, "and yes I still want to Rambo on him, but … shit… but this has got to be hard on him".

"Dean, you don't have to…" Sam began.

"C'mon Sam" Dean barked at him, exasperated, "We're, like, going to waster his wife".

Sam leant forward on the chair, worried and concerned.

"It's not like that and you know it" he said.

" 'Detachment' then" Dean huffed, raising his hands in quotation marks, "It's gonna be hard… I can feel her, hear her, I'm having her freaking memories Sam! And he's got to say goodbye all over again!"

Sam wasn't too sure if Dean was actually referring to himself – his thought process – and his words especially were sporadic and discontinuous from each other, making it difficult to decipher if it was their father, Dean or both of them, that he was talking about.

"Yeah" Sam agreed, "I guess it is."

Dean shuffled on the bed, moaning and groaning, as he tried to find a more comfortable position. Sam stood up and, dropping the book to the seat, and stepped over to the, only available, double bed.

"Move over" he demanded.

Dean eyed him, one brow raised, as he contemplated Sam's form hovering over him.

"Dude, C'mon!" Sam complained, shrugging, "There's only one bed. You going to deny me some much needed sleep" he looked at him in what he hoped was his best 'puppy dog eyes' look.

Dean groaned again, but pushed himself over further, fluffing the pillow in a few frustrated thumps.

"Fine, whatever" Dean growled out, "Just keep your freaky elbows and feet away from the merchandise".

Sam smiled as he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his own boots off, and leaving them neatly to the side, as he swung his legs up. He was tired, but hoped being close to Dean, would calm and reassure him, like they had been in the bathroom.

"Man, you're like a meercat" Dean murmured sleepily, letting Sam pull the covers up over them both.

"A meercat!" Sam burst out laughing, "What happened to Giraffe-boy?"

"-'re more like a meercat today" Dean slurred his words, eyelids fluttering, "Long neck, all alert, sensitive…" his voice drifted away as his breathing evened out.

Sam yawned widely and then looked towards Dean, face relaxed, mouth slack and slightly open.

"Good night Dean" he said even though it was several hours past dawn-break.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness claim him, with the full knowledge that Dean was asleep next to him.

tbc

Mary will have her 'chat' with John in the next Ch.

(no spaces) Quote from healthwithhypnosis. com /hypnotherapist directory / bill-lukas .htm 'Spiritual warriors doing battle with unseen forces'


	9. Chapter 9

Chapt 9?  
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)  
PG13- language warning.

A/N: Because peeps requested that Dead!Mary had it out with John over his questionable parenting (in this fic anyway)Yes... that scene between Dead!Mary and John is included!

Longer than usual – just shy of 4000 w/count this time.

If all goes to plan, there will probably be another 2 Ch's.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and them guys are not mine. This is not for profit

Chapter 9

John Winchester wasn't finding sleep easily. Not when his sons were only a floor away. Not when his oldest, self-controlled and strong, had been made into a shadow of himself, with abrupt and sporadic mood changes. And most definitely not when Dean was walking around with Mary, the mother of his children, attached like an unseen accessory.

Part of him wanted to scream, that he didn't need this right now, that he just needed the focus of the hunt, on the truth, on the end. But part of him wanted, needed, to hear Mary, see her, feel her. He didn't resent Dean for having those things. In fact he was terrified for him.

John felt ashamed for his behaviour earlier in the day. The want and need for answers overtook his brain and he had blatantly ignored the alarmingly fast way Dean had cracked. He knew, remembered, how Dean had reacted when Mary had died, the months of a subdued and silent four year old, who would tug at his sleeve, eyes wide, as he tried desperately to form words. Dean had been one, of the many arguments, he'd had with Mike, his partner back at the old garage before he'd finally taken the kids and hit the road. Mike had found himself at the bad end of John's anger and rage, when he had uttered something along the lines of 'That kid, he aint right in the head, and you know it'.

So yes, John did realise how much this could, and should be affecting Dean. He'd already seen the scars to prove it.

A noise outside of the room, creaking floorboards, made his eyes shoot open, alert and stiff. Quietly, he pushed himself up from the couch. Although his shoulders and back screamed in unwillingness, her kept his moves silent and coordinated, as he made his way across the room. He gently and quietly pushed the door open a crack and peered through.

Dean was at the door front door, hand fumbling with the lock.

John pushed the door open, fully, with his body and stepped out into the hallway.

"Dean?" John asked, "Where are you going?"

John was half-expecting, or half-hoping for, a 'Just checking on the car' but he didn't reply as he finally succeeded in unlocking the door, attempting to walk out on to the steep steps.

"Dean!" John hissed, voice kept at a pitch so as not to wake anyone else, "I asked you a question!"

He followed Dean out and grabbed at his arm, stalling Dean's descent on the third step.

"Dean?" John asked, reaching the step as he turned to study him. Dean wasn't just not responding to John – his eyes weren't even focusing on anything, they just looked across the garden and the street, shimmering with wetness of a light drizzle as a chill filled the air, eyes glassy, "Dean?"

He waved a hand in front of his son's unfocused and unblinking stare.

Dean was sleepwalking, John thought, or that's at least what he thought it was.

"O.K." John said, slowly tugging Dean's arm and turning him around, so that they were facing the open doorway and warming light. Dean appeared to move quite easily with the small prompt, "Let's get back inside".

They slowly walked back into the hallway, John pushing the front door closed, with a gentle shove from his still-booted foot.

"Let's get you back into bed" John said quietly.

"John Winchester!" Dean suddenly exclaimed, body going from slack to stiffening in mere seconds, "I've got a bone to pick with you".

"Dean?" John asked, startled by the exclamation, as they both stalled in the hallway.

"No Johnny" Dean replied, turning to look at him, "Try again".

"Mar… Mary?"

Dean's face broke into a sad smile, eyes threatening to spill, as he raised his hand and lightly touched the side of John's face.

"What are you doing to our sons?" Dean asked.

John's hand shot up to his face, fingers holding on to Dean's. Was Mary using Dean to communicate?

"What… what's going on?" he asked hesitantly.

"I can't keep this up for long" Dean explained, "He'll wake soon".

"Mary, is this really you?" John asked, heart thumping wildly. John knew it wasn't uncommon for spirits to communicate through somnambulism.

"Yes Johnny" Dean's voice replied with a twang of annoyance, "If I could use my own voice I would, but Dean doesn't come with an interchangeable voice-box".

"Oh god, Mary" John breathed out, his vice catching, as he squeezed the fingers at his face, "I don't know where to…"

"Cut the B.S Johnny" Dean's voice shot at him, pulling his hand away, "You're sons needed you, why weren't you there?"

"Mary, please…" he began.

"He was dying" Mary prodded Dean's finger into his chest, "He wanted you there".

"I was there" he defended weakly.

"In the shadows?" the voice shook with anger, "It's not enough. Not the coordinates, not the occasional calls. They need to know you care".

"I care" he whispered, desperately, grabbing at Dean's arm, "I've been trying to protect them".

"By running away from them?" Dean's voice argued back, "Don't you understand that by pushing them away, your hurting them more?"

John started to reply, but Mary held one of Dean's hands up, more feminine then Dean would have, but still ferocious and angry.

"Especially Dean" the voice shook with anger and one tear spilled over, "God John, you know what he was like when I died. You know how important it is to have you and Sam in his life".

"You saw that?" John asked, his own voice breaking.

"I've been with you and the boys from the day I died" she replied.

"But I…" he began, confused, "I thought…the house?"

"I've been in the house since that day" Dean's voice continued, "But that doesn't mean I don't feel what's going on. When something happens to you or the boys I feel it".

John leant on the wall and blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill, raising his hands to his face and rubbing tiredly.

"I just wish you'd show some balls and admit that you're just as scared of loosing them as Dean is with you and Sam" Dean's voice said gently, "I know part of the reason you stay away is because you can't bare to watch them die."

"I'm sorry" he whispered, "I just want it all to end".

"I know Johnny" Dean's voice penetrated through to him, soft and gentle, "And I don't know if I have the answers you want".

He looked over at Dean, dropping his hands in defeat and wondered if the shining eyes that were 'so' Mary at this moment of time, had always been a part of Dean.

"When you die, you don't get handed the answers to everything" Dean's voice continued, "But you do become a part of the spiritual world… it's almost like a realm of interweaving nerves. Everything becomes connected".

"What do you mean?" John asked curious.

"It's starting again John" Dean replied seriously, "I can feel it… every time someone is taken. We all become spiritually connected".

John looked at her, eyes widening.

"But I think you already had your suspicions" Mary smiled as Dean.

"Mary…" John began.

"I know you Johnny" Dean's voice interrupted, "You've always been 'militia' about things and I know you'll do your best to stop it. Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything" John replied.

"Don't push them away" Dean's voice said, reaching forward and touching John's face with light fingers again.

"I need to keep them safe" John said quietly.

"And you will" Dean's voice broke slightly, lips trembling, "But just not this way. They're special, John, they're important" he paused slightly, sadly, as Mary cocked Dean's head to the side, quizzically, "But I'll guess you'll figure that out in your own time".

"Mary…" John started to say again.

"I love you, I do, I'm just kinda pissed is all" Dean's voice replied, a small delicate bubble of sad laughter passing his lips.

"I love you so much" John said, voice low and gruff as he cupped his own hand over Dean's, "God, I really wish you were you, so I could kiss you right about now".

Dean broke out into a more natural laugh, too light and airy, to be his own.

"Yeah… because that would mess Dean up for sure".

Dean suddenly gasped and choked out a small sob as his eyes locked with John's before painfully breathed out "Love you, miss you".

Dean continued to gasp, hand dropping from John's face, as he took in an overdeveloped breath, like a last ditch attempt at preserving life, as he sagged limply against John's chest.

"Dean?" John asked, arms instantly stalling Dean, into place, against him.

"Dad?" Dean replied, voice slurred and mumbled, "-at's going on?"

"Nothing" John replied, pulling Dean up straighter, and placing a supporting arm around his waist, "Let's go back to bed, o.k.?"

Sam awoke with a start as he felt the door open and the temperature drop. He stiffened and pushed himself up, arm reaching for Dean. His fingers brushed empty sheets instead and he tried to stifle the alarmed breath threatening to escape from him. His hand was halfway to the lamp when his father spoke out across the darkness.

"Leave it off".

"Dad?" Sam asked, rubbing his eyes, trying to adjust to the dimness, curtains pulled, blocking the light quite effectively. He could just about make his father's body, arm wrapped around…

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, trying to entangle himself from out of the sheets, which had appeared to have pooled around his feet, "What happened?"

"Keep your voice down" John warned quietly, "Just took a stroll is all. Stay there, help me get him settled".

"Sleepwalking?" Sam asked, finally straightening the covers and pulling them back.

"He came too a bit, but he's still really disorientated" John replied, gently pushing a half-standing, half-sagging, Dean on to the edge of the bed.

John lifted his legs up, letting Sam pull, as they both twisted his body, so that he was lying flat. Dean blinked up, eyes bleary, as lips smacked together, words slurring with sleep, "Love you".

John looked down in surprise and wondered how much of Mary's energy was messing with him. If in fact it was Dean at all… maybe his mother's late night visit had a residual effect and she was still using Dean's own semi-consciousness.

To any outsider Dean would have appeared drunk, and the last time he'd had to put his son to bed, like this, had been a few days after Sam had left for Stanford. A hunt that could have gone better, a pool hustle gone wrong, and several shots later, that all refused to say down, John had found himself standing over Dean, just like he was now.

John continued to look down at Dean, unable to find the right words to speak.

Sam, hovering next to Dean, knees up and under him, on the bed, observed them, eyes moving from Dean to John. When it became apparent John wasn't going to say anything, Sam pulled the covers up over Dean and patted him lightly on the chest.

"Love you to Dean" Sam said, throwing an angry look at his father, "Go back to sleep".

Dean didn't need any encouragement, closing his eyes, he sighed with content, pulling the covers tighter around him, as he leant further into the gap Sam had inadvertently made between them.

"I'll leave you guys to get some rest" John said, still standing over the bed.

"Yeah" Sam said, disdain on his face, as he watched their father back up to the door.

"You want me to get you another sheet?" John asked, indicating weakly to Dean, who had appeared to have fully cocooned himself up in the covers, "He's taking it all up".

"I'll be fine" Sam said.

"You sure?" John asked.

"The concerns a little late" Sam said, pointedly, continuing to stare at John, "But, yeah, we'll be fine thanks".

John nodded uncomfortably and turned around, his hand resting on the doorframe, "I just want you to know, you boys mean a lot to me".

Sam looked at him and caught the sideways glance his father was giving him and Dean, noticing the sad smile, before he finally disappeared through the doorway, letting the door, quietly click shut.

"Are you o.k. to do this?" Sam asked.

"Sam, if you ask me that again…" Dean warned.

"Sorry".

They were sat by themselves, in the kitchen, their small amount of supplies stacked between them: the book Missouri had given Sam, pages bookmarked at relevant places, several white candles, a flask of holy water, a canister of salt, and several packs of matches.

They had slept for several hours after Dean had returned to the room, his sleep becoming more relaxed and restful, and it was now, yet again, dark.

"I just…" Sam began.

"Don't" Dean said, shaking his head, fingering the candles, smooth and waxy against his fingers, "I have to do this Sammy".

"I know" Sam said, pulling his backpack up, from an empty chair and placing it on the table. He picked the book up, glancing at it once, before sliding it in to the pack, "Doesn't mean I worry any less".

"Yeah" Dean grinned loosely, grabbing hold of the candles between both of his hands and passing them over to his brother, "You worry for the enough for the both of us".

"Someone has to" Sam muttered bitterly.

"Sam" Dean warned.

"Yeah, I know" Sam said thrusting the candles into the pack, "Lay off, I remember".

Dean pushed himself up and away from the chair, taking the salt, flask and matches with him. He came to a stop in front of Sam, passing the items into his waiting hands.

"Don't make it any harder than it already is Sam" Dean pleaded, his voice low.

"Sure" Sam said, closing the flap of the backpack, "C'mon, let's do this".

They both walked from the kitchen to find Missouri and their father waiting by the front door.

"You ready?" John asked.

"Yeah" Sam said.

"Missouri's going to wait here" John said, opening the front door and stepping out into the night, "Mind if I drive?"

Sam and Dean followed him, exchanging a confused look.

"You're coming?" Dean asked.

"Course" John replied, "You think I'll let you do this without me?"

"But" Dean began, watching as his father headed to the Impala.

"I'll be outside" John explained, "You need me, I'm there".

Sam bit his lip as Dean climbed down the steps and headed over to the car. He wanted to scream 'too little, too late' but he'd just promised Dean to at least try with their father, and besides Sam, begrudgingly had to admit that their Dad was making an effort with them.

He followed after them, stalling as he reached the car and glanced back at Missouri, who stood out on her porch.

"You boys call me if you need me" Missouri called after them.

Sam smiled at her, a nervous flutter across his cheeks. Missouri did not comment any further – she just smiled back at him, nodding reassuringly.

He slid into the back of the car, letting Dean ride shot gun, and watched as they backed away, Missouri standing outside her house, getting smaller by the second.

All three Winchester men stood on the sidewalk outside of their old family home. This was the first time, Dean realised, since their lives had changed twenty-two years ago, that they had been here as a family – father and sons.

"How many times have you been back here?" he asked his father.

John seemed startled by the question, but relaxed when he saw no hostility, anger or hurt in his voice. Just a sad understanding and an intriguing curiosity.

"Just a few times after the fire" John said, turning back to look at the house, "A couple of times, here and there. I rang Missouri mostly".

"Have you ever been back in?" Dean asked again, studying him.

"Not since we hit the road" John answered, his voice thick and restrained

It was ironic, really, Sam thought, that in all this time Dean didn't know the answers. For all the grief, anger, injustice and need for vengeance, they hadn't really 'spoken' about their mother dying. It really hit home that neither of them had truly dealt with it.

And although he still was glad that he didn't have to remember the events of that night or of the mother he hadn't, so to speak, lost, he realised with a sickening weight that he'd never have that common ground that Dean had with their Dad. There was a connection there he'd never have.

"So" Dean spoke up, "I guess this it".

"Sure" John said, clearing his voice, as he opened the door to the Impala, so Sam could pull the backpack free, "I wish I could be in there with you two".

"Thanks" Dean replied, turning away from his father.

"And I know this is hard" John said, raising his voice, hoping it could be carried to Dean, who'd already started to make his way across the garden, "But at least she will be at rest".

Dean continued to look at the house and the tree that he thinks he remembers sitting under, with his mother, one sunny afternoon in the autumn, eating sandwiches and throwing crispy leaves at each other.

Sam stood watching Dean slowly make his way across the garden.

"I'm serious Sam" John said, sliding back into the car, rolling the window down, so he could continue talking, "You call me if things go south".

"Yes sir" Sam said, slightly surprised at how easy it was to slide right back into obedient soldier mode. He nodded once at his dad, then trailed after Dean, until they were both stood, again, outside the front door.

"You sure about this?" Sam asked and then wondered if Dean was going to follow through on his earlier threat. He noticed the tense and hard set eyes that shadowed Dean's face.

"There's no get out clause Sammy".

"I know" Sam said, tightening his grip on the pack, searching for any sign that Dean might crumble and dissipate until there was nothing left, but all he saw was fierce determination amidst pained eyes, "It's just…".

"It's got to be done" Dean said, in such a way, Sam could have mistaken him for their father on a hunt.

Dean unexpectedly shoved Sam forward; his body colliding, roughly with the door, "Do the honours".

"You might be having exaggerated PMT" Sam grumbled, rubbing his elbow, where it had banged hard into the wooden, white, door, "But you're still a jerk".

"That's because you play the little bitch so well" Dean mocked, "What's your point?"

Sam knew that Dean was masking his unease up in a layer of humour, so he let it drop, instead choosing to open the door. He took a deep breath in before stepping inside, hovering in the reception area.

"Sam?" Dean's voice drew him back to his brother, who had yet to walk over the threshold, "Hold my hand, will ya"

Sam threw Dean a weary look.

"Dude!" Dean broke the silence, walking through the doorway, slapping him hard on the back, "You're such a girl".

"You're the one who asked me to hold your hand" Sam defended, "And the way you're behaving I'm surprised you haven't asked for a foot massage and a manicure already".

"Just get on with it" Dean said, face setting again, as he faced the small hallway leading to the living room.

Dean actually led the way, stopping a few steps away from the opening of the room, where he hesitated and froze. Sam gently squeezed past, touching his arm slightly, as he did so.

"I got to set up" Sam spoke, reassuringly, "You've got a few minutes yet".

Dean nodded, running a hand through his hair, and gulped nervously. He stepped, wearingly, into the room, watching Sam place the book down, before emptying the contents on the floor – the candles lined up, the flask of holy water, the canister of salt next to it, a few packs of matches, all neatly arranged into a line.

"A bit OCD there Sammy" Dean commented, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, eyes moving around and observing every corner.

"Just being prepared" Sam said, standing, taking the canister with him, "Stay still".

Sam poured the salt around him, wide enough to allow Dean to move, yet small enough to be able to enable Sam to reach him and hold on to him if he had to.

"Two legs" Dean reminded him, annoyed, "Not four".

"Whatever dude" Sam replied, circling fully around him, "Just stay inside the circle".

When he finished he placed four candles in each of the four corners of the room before spreading the remainder, in wide intervals, around the salt barrier.

"I'm going to do an incantation" Sam explained, as he shook out the matches, lighting the candles, "I'll be right here Dean".

"I hear you Sam" Dean replied, looking out to the other side of the room, Sam now back behind him.

Sam bent and picked the flask up, flicking the cap off, and sliding the book up with his free hand.

"This is it" Sam whispered. He flicked some of the holy water over Dean, making sure not to wet any of the candles and opened the book to a page he had marked earlier and began reciting in Latin.

"Redimio nos in lux lucis , defaeco nostrum animus" he began, "Expulsum phasmatis navitas quod paro suus solvo".

He realised Dean had started to tremble slightly and so as not to break the incantation, he simply reached over, letting his fingers cup around his elbow, in what he hoped was a reassuring and comforting touch.

"Plumbum suus in lux lucis" Sam continued, "Quod permissum suus persevero in suus righteous iter itineris. Solvo suus animus quod paro suus solvo".

Dean could hear Sam recite the incantation, loud and precise, his pronunciation clear and accurate. But as it continued the voice became more muffled and distorted, the fingers at his elbow less felt, and he blinked when the room started to swim before him – colour and furniture warping in a sickening swirl of expansions and retractions, until it resembled a room again.

Not the room that he had been present in moments before. The salt, candles and Sam weren't there anymore, although he was pretty sure he could hear his brother's muffled voice, distant and far away. No this room, was very familiar indeed, and it wasn't until something shimmered before him, did he realise that it was how it looked, or how he thinks he remembers it looking, back when he was still only four years old. Everything seemed smaller now or maybe it was because he was that much bigger.

The shimmering went from a slight apparition to a solid-looking form.

"Mom?" he whispered disbelievingly as she stepped forward, smiling, her white nightdress billowing around her.

"Dean" she smiled at him, voice warm and breaking.

She stepped towards him, her arms surprisingly 'there' for a spirit, sweeping around him, as his heart swelled, feeling her skin, her clothes, her hair, and familiar scent, tickling his own senses.

She pulled away, looking into his eyes as she spoke gently, "It's time".

He nodded and let her delicate fingers slip into his own as light appeared in front of them, so glorious and spectacular and inviting. They stepped together, mother and son, hands clasped together, into the invitation.

tbc

A/N2: From an automated English to Latin translation website, so any blatant mistakes, I apologise

Redimio nos in lux lucis , defaeco nostrum animus – Surround us in light, purify our souls.

Expulsum phasmatis navitas quod paro suus solvo – Expel the spiritual energy and set her free.

Plumbum suus in lux lucis – Lead her into the light

Quod permissum suus persevero in suus righteous iter itineris. Solvo suus animus quod paro suus solvo – And let her continue on her righteous journey. Release her soul and set her free.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapt 10/11 (I think)  
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Mary (gen)  
PG13- language warning.  
A/N: WIP - Another take on 'Home', only this time Dean freaks out and can't bring himself to go into the house. Spoilers for Home, Faith, Benders. Title from Slaughter's song of the same name.  
Disclaimer: Supernatural and them guys are not mine. This is not for profit  
Attempted to bring in, briefly an original character (because, you know, not my strongest point) and although he's only there for the briefest of times, I quite like Bo, my little bohemian friend pats him on the head and gives him a cookie  
And just reinforcing a reminder - in this AU, Faith occurred before Home, in case you think my timeline is a bit screwey.

spnspnspnspn

Chapter 10

'_You have been long from me and I have tried to treat your absence as normality'_

'_But now your hands hold mine and all the years are gone_

_and all the hidden pain,_

_and I'm complete again'_ Charlotte Gray, A Long parting

The light, although bright, wasn't blinding. It felt natural. Warm. Enduring. And Dean had to admit, beautiful.

Dean wasn't entirely sure if these feelings and increasingly comfortable and content sensation that was rapidly multiplying in him, was from the light alone, or just from the mere fact that his mother's soft, gentle, fingers held his own, tight and caring, in such a way that he ached for the time when he just a toddler and he'd had his hand held tightly when walking across the road or down the sidewalk to the shops or the near-by park.

Presently he had no idea what he was walking on – it reminded him of the time he had snuck Sam out and taken him to the local carnival that was in town and they had gone into a cheap makeshift 'haunted house', that they had rolled their eyes at in distaste, but there had been two young girls who had been too scared to go in by themselves, and Dean, in all his glory of 12 years of age, had ventured in with them, Sam grumbling all the way. But Dean had found the experience rather disturbing, pitch black and hoky noises, the floor spongy and unsteady with no substance, that it had caused waves of nausea with motion sickness.

That nausea was here again, but he swallowed it down, eyes darting to his mother, walking beside him, as a small, nervous smile ghosted over his lips.

They came to a stop as the light faded slightly, peeling back to reveal a misty fog moving around the rays of light.

"It's o.k." she said, smiling back at him.

Through the light and patches of fog, some of the surrounding scenery and horizon became clearer, and more focused. Dean took in a breath and then breathed it out slowly, taking in the scene before him. There were buildings in front of them, which he could only describe as the greatest and most extravagant architecture that he'd ever seen. Something fit for the Romans or Caesar, he thought.

Astounding buildings with breath-taking doors. Buildings with striking white stone and marble, cool and spectacular. Before that there were steps, seemingly a natural and smooth extension of the stone and marble, coming to a stop in front of them both, with large boulders to either side.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Mary breathed beside him.

"Never seen anything like it" Dean quietly murmured back.

The fog shifted with light, three shadowed figures appearing and moving through the mist.

"Mom?" Dean asked, concerned.

"It's o.k. Dean" Mary said, squeezing his hand tightly, "they're here for me".

The figures moved through the mist, coming out of it, and stopping at the top of the steps – one to the left and two the right. After a second or two, all three slowly descended the steps and as they came nearer Dean could see that the man to the left had long hair and was wearing a white linen-looking shirt, with wide peace hugging sleeves, and trousers.

The two to the right, a lady and man, looked to be in their late 50's or 60's. Warm smiles and tears met his and his mother's gazes.

"Mom" Mary whispered, voice choking as her own hand flew to her mouth, "Dad".

"Mary" the man replied, his own face breaking into a mixture of tearful happiness and sad remorse, "We've been waiting for you".

"It's been a long time" Mary said, a broken smile mirroring her father's, before turning and nodding reassuringly at Dean, "Dean, this is your grandmother and grandfather. They died" she paused as her voice shook again, "before you were even born".

"Hey" Dean said, throwing a quick smile in their direction, unsure of what to say.

"Hello Dean" his grandmother spoke up, a wide smile lighting up her face, "Mary, you and John have brought some special boys into the world".

"They're fantastic" Mary agreed.

"O.K, right thanks" Dean interrupted, feeling his cheeks flush slightly, uncharacteristically abashed, "So who's the stoner guy?"

"Dean" Mary reprimanded, shaking her head.

"HE is a spiritual a guide" the man spoke up, amused, "You're mother's to be precise. I'm here to make the transition easier. Bo's the name".

"Hello" Mary said, nodding at the guide, smiling, "Sorry I'm late".

"Yeah" he nodded, laughing "You know how long I've been waiting for you Winchester. My commission is down" he paused and glanced at Dean, head tilted to one side as he studied him, toe to tip, "So you're Dean, huh?"

"Urr… yeah" Dean said, weary.

"Man, Gabe and the guys have been having kittens over you" Bo said, shaking his head, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "Dude, here's a tip, if something or someone is glowing, don't touch it".

"Duly noted" Dean said, a small dry laugh parting his own lips.

"So, I'm here to help your mother Dean" Bo said, "Answer her questions, show her the way, help her on the other side" he paused, stepping forward and nodded to Dean, "You got any Q's?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, slightly dumfounded by the bohemian in front of him.

"Questions dude" Bo corrected, eyes rolling.

"Yeah, actually I do" Dean said, "Where's Jay and Silent Bob?"

"Dean!" Mary reprimanded, hand squeezing tightly in disapproval, but as he glanced sideways at her he saw her eyes glistening with a self-restrained smile.

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to split my sides laughing at some kind of reference to something I haven't got a clue about, because dude, I'm a 70's man" Bo said, giving him a sardonic smile.

"So you can't tell me if God looks like Alanis Morrisette, huh?" Dean replied sarcastically.

"He sure is a character" he heard his grandmother guffaw before glancing at her husband, "Inappropriate humour, I wonder where gets that from?"

"Dude, gods whatever you want it to be" Bo replied cryptically, again a smile on his lips, before turning to his mother "Mary, Q's?"

"No" she said, not taking her eyes from Dean.

"All rightey then" Bo said, nodding in understanding as he patted Mary's shoulder, "I'll give you a few minutes".

"Thank you" she said, throwing a relieved look to her guide before returning to Dean and fixing him with a sad smile, "This is it Dean".

"Y… Yeah" Dean agreed, voice wavering as he fingered her palm.

Mary let him hold on to her hand, embracing the physical connection between them, and reinforcing it with her free hand, bring it up and rubbing his arm in the same spot Sam had rubbed earlier that morning.

"I just want to let you know" Mary whispered, quietly, keeping the spoken words quiet and between them, "That I'm so proud of you and Sam".

Dean lowered his gaze, unable to meet his mother's watery, warm and honest eyes.

"I love you so much" she said, voice hitching and then breaking into a sob as she took action, pulling his body into hers, her hand moving from his arm, to rub at his back, as small shudders littered through both of their bodies, "And I'm so sorry that you've had to do this. I wish things were different. But they're not".

"Yeah" Dean breathed into her hair, numb, as regret and dread filled him, guilt and despair causing bile to rise up through his throat.

"And your dad loves you. Don't give up on him" Mary said, continuing her hold and light touch, "He'll make the right decision soon enough. Then everything will fit into place. You've just got to… believe in him and accept whatever it is" she paused and whispered, "I promise you, it will be for the best".

She felt Dean's own arms pull around her and the light sound of murmuring.

"Just remember, I love you" she said, finally, pushing herself away from him, brushing his face with a soft kiss. She let her fingers lax and drift from his hand, stepping back and away, as another sob caught in her throat, causing the words to sound strangled "Goodbye Dean".

Dean suddenly shook his head viciously and swept up her hand again, pulling and pushing their bodies, so that they both moved forwards. His face contorted and mouth parted as a low guttural groan whimpered out of him.

Bo's eyes widened as he realised both Mary and Dean had, in the sudden move, ventured nearer the marble steps.

"What are you doing Dean?" Mary asked, startled, voice loud and panicked.

"I Can't…" Dean insisted, eyes wide, his breaths caught with words in harsh gasps, "You can't…"

"You have to" Mary gasped out, desperately trying to wrench her arm out of his hold, "You can't go any further and I can't go back".

"Yeah?" Dean ground out, his voice bitter and desperate, "Well, I'm selfish and I can't say goodbye".

Mary shook her head, her blonde hair flying wildly around her, as she continued to struggle in the hold, pushing at him with her other hand, "You have to, or you'll die".

spnspsnspn

Sam's recitation and apparent calmness slowly epped away as he saw Dean stagger slightly, body swaying. At the same time he felt a burning sensation swell up through his soul as emotion, which he felt were not his own, deep within and all around him, broadcasted like a suddenly-lit flare. The strange 'wired' feeling of connection he had experienced shortly after starting the recitation, that he had hoped assured him that Dean had been grounded to him, was suddenly cut.

Sensing Dean's sagging body, he quickly gathered some of the candles, pushing them out of harms way, as Dean slipped to his knees, Sam falling with him, bodies becoming one. Dean's eyelids fluttered revealing rolling eyes, and Sam was instantly reminded of the slow, graceful way his brother had slipped to the floor, back in Roy Le-Grange's tent. But his time Sam was there, behind him, as he lowered him gently to the floor.

Unlike the time in the supposed faith healer's tent, Dean did not respond to Sam's shake and worried exclamations of his name. Body slumped, arms slack, head resting in Sam's gathered hands, Dean just lay half-in, half-out, of the circle, unmoving and unresponsive…

spnspnspn

Mary's arm was still clutched tightly in Dean's hold. Both of their eyes sparking – pained, desperate, and sad.

"You have to go back" Mary insisted, her eyes going from painful sadness, to angry and scared.

"I… I don't know if I can" Dean admitted, voice quiet and wobbling, "Mom… I'm so tired. I just want it to be over".

Dean didn't break. His eyes didn't fill with tears. Waterfalls didn't fall.

His face simply pictured weariness and confusion and his eyes lifted, catching hers, as if searching for an answer.

"When you were with me… it felt different" he continued, stumbling over the words, face wincing as he spoke, "I remembered what you felt like… I remembered what it used to be like. I don't want to loose it".

He could sense all eyes on him, grandparents sad and drowning, and Bo's more panic stricken, mumbling something quietly to himself and he thinks he catches, 'This shouldn't be happening'.

"You don't have to" Mary said, ignoring everyone, but her son, "I'll always be a part of you".

"Maybe that's not enough!" Dean ground out, anger now lacing his words.

"Listen to me Dean Winchester!" Mary exclaimed, grabbing Dean's hold back, with both arms, "You're important… you're so important…"

spnspnspn

… "Dean, man" Sam said, swatting at his face with his hand, "C'mon, wake up dude".

Dean didn't respond. Didn't make a noise. Didn't move.

Sam's hand moved from Dean's cheek, where he swatted helplessly, slowly, hesitatingly, to the side of his neck, fingers searching, exploring, and messaging at his skin, until they fell into place, trying to count out the beats.

But Sam's hand shot back and away as if the touch was sharp and burning.

"God, no!" Sam choked out, willing for the previous connection to spark again. Sam shook his head, "No…"

Dean hadn't just passed out, and there wasn't a temporary loss of signal to have caused their lost connection – Dean wasn't breathing…

spnspnspn

… "You're so important" Mary said and as if to emphasise the point, she shook him, hard enough to rattle her own bones in her slender arms, "You've kept the family together, rooted. You're the soul, the glue" Mary whispered, "and I love you even more for it. But it's not over – just remember that they do need you and you them".

"Mom" Dean's quiet voice broke further as he shook his head. It wasn't a shake of denial, more of a weary shake of suppressed emotion, which threatened to rip him apart, leaving him bare and honest for all to see.

"I don't want this for you Dean" Mary said, her own voice falling, speaking with ease as her eyes misted over with hope, "You're meant to do things. Important things. I want you to live".

He nodded and loosened his grip but found himself mirroring her earlier touch as he let his fingers touch lightly at her arm.

"I miss you"

"And me you" she said, "But I'll always be there".

Dean didn't respond as he studied his mother's earnest face. They were stood in close proximity, arms touching, but already there seemed to be a distance between them.

Mary broke the contact, briefly, until she brought her arm up, and cupped the side of his face against her palm. He leant into the gesture.

"Sammy's calling you" she said, "Can't you hear him…?"

spnspnspn

… Dean wasn't breathing. And for the briefest of moments, Sam panicked, breaths coming quick and fast.

No, Sam thought; get a grip of yourself Winchester. Dean needs him. ABC, Airways, Breathing, Circulation. CPR, he said to himself, as he clumsily readjusted both Dean and himself and leant over his brother's prone body.

He remembered the last time he'd had to do anything like this, back when he was still at home. Only her name was 'Resuscitation Annie' and to Dean's amusement, Sam had been, at first, unable to get any sufficient breaths in to her.

The first time Sam had given CPR he'd killed the dummy.

Their dad had brought her home one evening when he was 12 and had shrugged mysteriously when Sam had asked where it had come from but had insisted both Sam and Dean practice with it because there was nothing like preparation. Sam, at the time had considered it more of a bad omen. It wasn't until several attempts later, Dean had sat down with him and pointed out that he hadn't been pinching the nose, and after a couple of more tries and with Dean's help, he had, at least saved the dummy. Dean had commandeered Annie, after, and placed her next to his bed, sticking an old cigarette in her mouth, and a 'DNR' sign around her neck. When it time to move on, Dean had left her behind, too big to take on the road. He would have laughed out loud at picturing the new occupants, of the small apartment, reactions' at finding her lazily leaning against the wall, if he wasn't in the predicament he was in.

But Dean, who had ironically shown him how to do the steps, now needed them to be practiced on him and Sam wasn't going to make the same mistake again. He pinched Dean's nose, tilting his head back slightly and breathed into his mouth twice before snapping back and studying his brother.

Still no response.

Sam let his hand trace across Dean's torso as he placed both hands, balled, into position. 15 compressions, 2 breaths, 15 compressions, 2 breaths, 15 compressions, 2 breaths.

"C'mon Dean" he hissed out, feeling the thrusts, rip though his taught arms and muscles, "Breathe".

Dean didn't make a noise, didn't make a startled, desperate attempt at a breath. Instead his body moved limply and loosely with every compression.

"Don't do this to me" Sam exclaimed, voice rising in frustration, tears forming in his eyes, "Don't do this, are you listening to me soldier? Don't leave me" he gasped out before shouting, "Goddammit, Breathe!"

As the compressions continued, he slowly lost count of the amount and the rhythm, numbly letting them come to a stop, hands resting tightly, balled, in Dean's shirt and with a flare of anger and despair he wrenched Dean's body up, chest and head falling loosely against Sam's own.

His chin rested on top of Dean's head, voice small and tight, as he quietly begged, "Don't fucking die on me".

When, yet again there was no response, the anger faded away and the shock and pain hit him hard, as he gasped, releasing his hold and scrambling back, unceremoniously letting Dean slump back, head thumping against the floor…

spnspnspn

"Sammy's calling you" she said, "Can't you hear him?"

Dean tilted his head slightly and found his eyes closing. In the darkness, behind his lids, he felt himself being pulled by an unseen force. In the distance he could hear a muffled and distorted voice. His name. Sam's voice.

"Sammy" he breathed out, opening his eyes.

"He needs you Dean" Mary said quietly and seriously, eyes boring into her son's, "You need to be there for him".

Dean continued to stare at her, taking in her hair, her eyes, her face, and burning it into him like an imprint.

"I know" Dean eventually said, quietly, "I was just having a crazy moment" he paused and shrugged, arms stiff, "Sammy means everything to me".

"It's o.k." she said smiling, "You boys mean everything to me. You're both special".

Mary stepped forwards and swallowed Dean into her arms again, tight, warm, and reassuring.

"I love you Dean and I know you'll do great things" she leant into him, mouth close to his ear.

They both pulled away and their eyes met again. Dean knew it would be for the last time.

"It's time for you to go back and me to move forward" Mary said.

Dean nodded and let her step backwards away from him towards the awaiting Bo.

"Hmm… how do I…?" Dean began.

"Just close your eyes dude" Bo said, "And listen to your brother. You'll find the way".

Dean and Mary stood so close and yet, physically they were already miles apart, their callings and forces threatening to pull them back in polar opposites.

"Goodbye Dean" Mary said, her voice fluttering over his face.

His eyes drifted shut, loosing any sense of direction and gravity, and as he slipped into an unknown dark oblivion, he thought he heard Bo murmur the same words Roy Le-Grange had said to him only a month or so earlier, 'He has an important purpose, a job to do, and it isn't finished'…

spnspnspn

tbc

'_Gathering what can be salvaged, the distraught and injured children, the lost, the dispossessed, the fragments of a broken society._

_They stoop across every battlefield, seeking for their own._

_They tear at blocks of stone tumbled by earthquake, blackened by fire._

_Out of destruction they piece together small areas of safety, letting fragments stand as symbols of a whole' _ Extracted From Pamela Brown Mother Courage, (For Mother a gift of love, edited by Helen Exley, 1993, Exley Publications).

A/N2: Just thought that the above quote, for me, in this on-going fic, and in SPN in general, represented both Mary and Dean, as well as John and Sam.  
The Charlotte Gray quote also comes from this book


	11. Chapter 11

Fly to the Angels

Chapt 11/? (1-2 more)

Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, an estranged father, and his own mother.

Pairing: Dean, Sam (gen)

PG13- language warning.

A/N: Title from Slaughter's song of the same name.

I totally misjudged the amount i had to write, so again, i have no idea how many Ch's are to come (possibly one more, maybe two shrugs)

Disclaimer: Supernatural and them guys are not mine. This is not for profit

Chapter 11

Awareness started to come back, back to a darkness that threatened to engulf him whole. Eyes too heavy to open, arms and legs laden, like a weight sinking him down.

Slowly muffled noises slipped through the darkness and haze, distorted and inaudible, some louder than others as he felt something brush lightly across his ear. It was then, somewhere in the nauseating forgetfulness, stuck somewhere he didn't know, that he felt something abruptly grasp his hand, whole and complete as unmistakable fingers entwined tightly between his own as something light and warm was placed against the side of his face.

He relished the contact and leant into the touch.

A flash and a memory and then panic was racing through him as he remembered who the last person was to lovingly place their hands there. He felt his heart speed up within his chest, beats synchronising with annoying intervals of beeps that did nothing to quell the fear spreading through him.

Mom, he thought, is she back … has she gone…?

"Mom?" he managed to whisper, his voice sounding strange, broken and unfamiliar. He forced his eyes open to slits, fighting hard to pry the lids apart. Sharp, bright, painful light met him in return and he immediately let them fall easily closed with a hiss of discomfort.

He wondered, disorientated, if he was still there, back at the doors of the great white marbled architecture, somewhere between the living and the dead.

Noises met his ears again, louder, urgent, insistent, and because he couldn't make sense of it, or possibly because his own voice threatened to fail him, he groaned non-committedly back.

"-ean" the voice said, becoming clearer and less muffled, "Dean? C'mon, I'm here".

"-am?" Dean coughed out, finally finding his voice again, "Sammy?" he asked, voice rough with broken relief.

"Yeah bro" Sam replied reinforcing his touch at his face with a comforting rubbing motion, "Open your eyes for me, will ya".

"Can't" Dean moaned, "Kill the lights. It's hurts like a bitch".

He extracted his fingers slightly from Sam and returned a tighter hold, causing Sam to blink down in surprise. Either Dean was pretty much freaked out about everything that had happened or he really was hurting… enough to show it in a thinly conveyed way of biting down and suppressing it.

"I'll pull the curtains, it's quite bright out" Sam said, slowly pulling away, feeling guilty at breaking the relatively small, yet big for his brother, contact Dean had initiated, as he felt the hold tighten, "I'll only be a sec" he reassured him.

He felt Dean loosen his hold and he slipped his hand easily away as he padded across the room in two quick strides, glancing back at his all-too pale brother, before quickly drawing the curtains to.

"It's done" he said, moving back over to the bed, hesitating for a second, hand hovering over Dean's, now digging in tightly to the sheets, before letting it fall back into place, cupping his fist tightly, "You want me to get someone?"

Dean groaned lightly, shaking his head, as his eyelids fluttered crazily, an unknown battle between light and long eyelashes, until his eyes were finally able to stay open. He blinked tiredly up at Sam.

"Hey there sunshine" Sam smiled, grinning down at him as he slipped into a nearby chair.

Dean broke the eye contact and glanced around the room. Suspicious looking white walls, standard looking curtains, plain bed sheets. Bed sheets, he thought, as he realised he was in a bed and just behind Sam, slightly off to the left, there was a machine that was, he presumed, attached to him and the suspect for the annoying beeps he'd heard as he had awoken.

He returned to look at Sam, frowning, "Sam, this isn't where I left you" he accused.

Sam looked down, continuing to study his brother, who had, only last night, been clinically dead. He would have laughed nervously at that if it hadn't been for the confused frown marring Dean's face, the tight uncharacteristic hold Dean still had, and the unavoidable shiver to his body.

The fear, the devastation, the numbness. It had frozen him to the core. Tears had threatened to drown him away. And just as he had realised that he should ring his father, do something, ANYTHING, as he'd fingered his phone within his pocket with hands shaking like a an old man with brittle bones, Dean's body had suddenly arched and spasmed as a horrible crackling breath erupted from his body, starved of oxygen, as survival or a miracle kicked in.

"_Dean?" Sam asked, voice startled and disbelieving, as he pushed himself back to his prone body._

_Dean remained unresponsive, eyes closed, but as Sam placed his numb fingers over his neck, relief flooded him, as he felt his brother's pulse beating wildly beneath his fingertips._

"_It's o.k. bro" he said as he again pulled Dean's body up and against him, as he dug around him for his phone, "You're going to be o.k."_

_His dad picked up on the first ring, a testament to how freaked out and worried he was, his father's urgent voice meeting Sam's ears._

"_Sam?"_

"_Yeah" Sam replied, his voice on the fine line between a demanding control and panic, "Get the car started; we need to get to a hospital"._

"_What the hell happened?" John demanded and Sam heard the sharp intake of breath._

"_I'll explain on the way" he said, snapping the phone shut. In truth Sam didn't really have a clue at to what had happened. Not a clue._

_Once the phone was safely back in his pocket, he tightened his hold on Dean, arm sweeping around his shoulders and back, his other sweeping his legs up. Dean would hate to be carried like this, hell he'd hate to be carried at all, to be carried was a Winchester Sin, according to his brother._

_Fireman lift, Sammy, much more acceptable, Dean had said. Well, Sam thought, what happens in the house, stays in the house. Besides, Dean was already in an easy position to be lifted like this, head lolling against his chest, as Sam staggered down the hallway under Dean's weight._

_Their father met them, eyes wide and breaths fast, at the doorway to the house. His arms instantly reached out to take Dean._

_Sam hesitated, hands tightening against Dean's body, before stepping closer, letting him take up the role of father once more._

"_I'll get the door" Sam said, stepping past, as he broke into a small run._

_John came up behind him and once the door was open, Sam helped to slip Dean's loose body into the back bench of the car. John quickly headed for the driver's side._

"_In the car. Now" John said sliding into the seat, "And tell me everything…"_

"Yeah, well… you happened to be breathing then" Sam replied.

"What?" Dean asked, forehead creasing even further, in an attempt to gather and figure out the events that had transpired.

"You stopped breathing Dean" Sam said, voice gentle and off at the same time, "I thought I'd lost you there".

"I'm here, man" Dean said, taking note of the tight lips, and the slight tremble of the mouth, "Didn't mean to freak you out".

Sam snorted and half-heartedly thumped the bed, "Yeah, you got a habit of doing that".

Dean smiled slightly at him and shrugged.

"Why am here though?" He asked, attempting to push himself further up the bed.

"Didn't we just cover that?" Sam asked, concern lacing his voice. Seeing Dean struggle to sit, he grabbed at his arm tightly and firmly, and helped him into position.

"I mean" Dean said, as his voice caught in his throat with his body movements, "people don't just stop breathing for no reason".

He kicked the covers away and unsteadily swung his legs around as he sat on the edge of the bed, "what did you tell em, 'my brother stopped breathing because he got lost in limbo'?"

"Whoa" Sam protested, placing a restraining arm across Dean's chest, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I can't stay here Sam" Dean barked at him, swatting his arm away as he lurched to his feet, one arm slung out as his hand grappled for the wall. He felt Sam's own arm slide around him, "We can't explain anything Sam and I'm not having any shit tests" he paused, head sliding sideways so he could look at Sam, "They haven't done any tests, have they?"

"Relax Dean, sit down" Sam ordered, voice surprisingly sharp.

Dean found himself sitting abruptly back down, his own momentum taking him, Sam's hand firmly on his shoulder.

"You don't have to worry about a thing" Sam said, more gently, "Dad took care of it".

"Took care how?" Dean asked, weary, and to his own disgust he knew he sounded like he was whining like a small child.

"Took care", Sam said, grinning at him, "as in a private doctor".

"Who?" Dean asked suspiciously, shaking the hand off his shoulder.

"Someone called Daniels" Sam shrugged, "served with Dad. Same unit I think. Said he owed him".

"Man" Dean grumbled, letting his head roll back slightly, "He better be a real doc this time".

"He had his own white coat and stethoscope" Sam interjected hopefully.

"Hospital Sam" Dean laughed wryly, "Not exactly hard to come by"

"He seemed to know what he was doing".

"Oh that makes me feel so much better" Dean replied sarcastically as Sam once again took up his seat.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?" Sam asked, as he looked up at Dean's huddled body, "It was supposed to be easy –"

"Easy?" Dean scoffed out, "Yeah you know, packing mum off, waving her goodbye, so easy-"

"That's not what I meant" Sam breathed in sharply, "I'm sorry, it came out wrong. I meant Missouri said that we'd be connected, grounded…" his voice trailed off as she searched Dean's eyes, hand resting next to Dean's leg, "What happened?"

"How should I know" Dean found himself saying, eyes falling from Sam's, unable to look at him or say that he had cut the connection willingly, how he'd chosen, crazily, not to come back at all, until the need to be with Sam out-lived the need to be with his mom, to be dead and gone, and for it to all be finally over, "I just… kinda lost my way, I guess" he said with a small, defeated shrug of his own, "I'm sorry".

Sam bent forwards and sideways slightly, forcing Dean to meet his eyes, as he came to the conclusion that his brother looked like a small beaten dog. He'd just lost his mother again. How could he bring him back from this? How could he make things better for him?

"You don't have anything to be sorry for" he said, smiling reassuringly.

Dean found himself giving his brother a small smile back, at the dopey eyes and goofy grin that met him. If only he knew, if only…

He reached out, fingertips brushing Sam's raggedy hair, before playfully pushing him harder.

"Dude, you need a haircut" he snorted, straightening up and rolling his neck and shoulders, "why does my head hurt?"

"Right…" Sam began, shifting uncomfortably, "You, umm, sort of took a nock to your noggin".

"Sam…?"

"Jennifer has a hard floor I guess" Sam offered as he silently reminded himself _what happens in the house, stays in the house._

Their close body proximity and hushed conversation were suddenly stalled and startled apart as the door opened and a doctor appeared.

"A ha" he exclaimed, "I see you've decided to join the land of the living".

Dean tensed and shifted, biting down hard on his lip, as Sam paled.

"Sorry" the doctor continued, "Not exactly the best choice of words considering the circumstances".

Dean shook his head and gave a small, light, smack to the top of Sam's head. Sam swiped his hand away in response.

"It's o.k." Dean said, "Glad to see someone still has a sense of humour around here".

The doctor came further into the room, standing at the bottom of the bed.

"Teddy Daniels" he said, offering his hand across the length of the bed.

Dean took in the doctor, or more precisely the white doctor's coat that he was wearing. Sam had not been joking when he had said he'd had his own white coat, because, embroidered neatly in a swirl of writing, was his name proudly declaring the arrival of Dr. T.E. Daniels, in such a way it matched the big wide toothy grin that smiled across at him.

"You're a real doc?" Dean asked, eyes squinting at him.

"Last time I checked" Daniels confirmed, looking down at his emblazoned name, and tapped it with a big hand. He reminded Dean of the giant blue furry professor from the X-Men comics. Only he wasn't blue or furry.

Dean and Sam exchanged quick looks and Dean caught the swallowed gulp of laughter from his brother. Jeez, he could have warned him… Daniels was either a proud man or just simply proud to be a doctor. Dean couldn't quite get his head round the fact that he was military.

Dean reached out and gave the doctor a small shake in return.

"So" Daniels said, walking around the bed, until he was standing behind Sam. He let his big hands rest on Sam's shoulders, leaning down, "do you mind letting me give him the once over".

"No, be my guest" Sam said, shaking his head, as he shot Dean a triumphant grin, and moved away, further down the bed.

"He might not" Dean replied, gritting his teeth, "But I do"

""Look, let me give you the once over" Daniels offered, "And I'll see about getting you out of here".

He glanced at the doctor, contemplating the offer, and then smiled.

"I like the way you think".

spnspnspn

"O.K." Daniels nodded, "Usually I'd insist you stay overnight for observation, but considering the circumstances, I'm going to let you leave" he paused and glanced at Sam who was hovering nearby, "I gather you know the drill for concussions".

"God please" Dean complained, readjusting his position on the bed, "Don't encourage him".

Daniels smiled and headed to the door.

"Yeah" Sam nodded, flicking his finger at Dean, "I've had enough practice".

"Well" Daniels said, opening the door, "I'll get the forms then".

"Thanks" Sam said, returning to his brother.

Silence filled the room now that the bumbling and proud man had left and Dean turned his head sideways – he really didn't want to start talking about everything again – and his eyes fell upon a bundle of photos, perched up against the wall on the side table. They were of Sam and him as kids, their mother and father smiling widely behind them.

It was hard to look at his mother without feeling the ache creep back in his heart, but leant forwards slightly and gathered them up in his hands, leafing through the assortment.

"Jennifer" Sam explained, quietly beside him, "She stopped by with the kids. Dropped these off".

Dean stopped looking through the small bundle, letting them fall and rest in his lap.

"How'd she know we were here?" he asked as he stared down at the crisp papers of memories.

"Missouri. She went there, they ended up starting to clear the place up" Sam said, letting Dean take his time. Sam had spent a good amount of time looking at the photos himself, "She wanted to thank you".

Dean looked up, confused.

"I didn't do anything…" he began.

"Us then" Sam corrected, seeing Dean tense again.

"It was you Sam, I just complicated things" he said and before Sam could argue he continued with, "So, they're going back the house".

"They were headed back there" Sam confirmed, guiltily letting Dean steer the conversation away from the unsaid issue.

Dean looked down at the photos. At the family unbroken and whole beaming up at him and if it wasn't for the fact that his mother was still fresh in his mind, he would wonder who the exceptionally happy family were. His eyes shifted to his father, present in the photo, but suspiciously absent from the room

"Where's Dad?" he mumbled, voice so quiet Sam nearly hadn't caught it.

"He was here earlier" Sam said, realising Dean was wondering if their dad had cut loose again, "He took Jennifer and the kids' home. Said, he was going to make sure it was all o.k. there" he paused slightly, "We kinda left in a hurry, left all our stuff there…"

"O.h." Dean said in response.

It was a miracle, Sam thought, that the house hadn't burnt down again, but he left it unsaid, pretty sure that Dean could do without that visionary aid.

"C'mon" he said, taking the photos from Dean's knees, "Let's get ready to go. I'll call dad to come pick us up".

Dean silently slid from the bed as Sam slid his t-shirt and pants across to him. Once he was sure that Dean was steady enough to stay on his feet, he slipped out of the room, to call their father.

spnspnspn

Once back at Missouri's, after she had insisted that they return there instead of their rapidly unused motel room, she smiled at all three Winchester men and informed them that Dean was completely free of any spirits and spiritual energies.

Dean had gone back to the room he had shared with Sam the previous day and gratefully claimed the bed, laying on his stomach, face down and turned sideways against the pillow, mouth slightly open, body slack.

He'd never seen him so tired, Sam thought, as he sat on the edge of the bed watching him. Dean had two types of sleeping - full alert, with a swift slash of the knife and sudden defensive hunter mode, his body in-tune with the environment and the activities around him even in sleep. The other was the exhaustion that occasionally claimed him when either his well-built defensive walls strained under the pressure ant threatened to buckle or the hunt had simply taken it out of him and exhausted him. Of course he would deny it until, again, he'd simply collapse.

Dean was currently in an exhausted sleep and with it came a sense of raw vulnerability and a startling snapshot of how young he looked. Part of Sam was sat there, studying him, as if he was an obscure science project and part of him was still in the protective mode that he had found himself in through the ever-increasing disaster of hunts that they had been lead into.

He fingered the photos that Jennifer had dropped off and sighed. His mother looked absolutely stunning, beautiful and happy, with his father and Dean, in a time of innocence, smiling easily into the camera, seemingly unaware of the horrors to come.

With a strangled and frustrated sigh he leant over Dean and dropped the photos on to the table.

"She was beautiful wasn't she?" a voice said from behind.

He turned sideways and saw his father in the doorway.

"Yeah" he nodded.

John walked in slowly talking a wide path around the bed, Sam and Dean.

"How is he?" John asked.

"Asleep" Sam replied as if it wasn't pretty obvious.

"Yeah" John snorted in reply.

"He's pretty tired" Sam offered, pulling the loose cover up to tuck it around Dean's exposed shoulder, "It's been a rough couple of days".

"Sure" John said, moving further away, to lean on the window ledge, "You know when you were a kid, he used to sit like that over you." He smiled and shrugged, "Put you to bed. Got you up".

Sam removed his hand from Dean's shoulder and placed both on to his knees, lips tight and pursed as he stared at his father.

"Everything you should have done?" Sam asked pointedly, his own voice tired and stretched, but devoid of the bitterness he'd had earlier.

"Maybe" John conceded, "You know, I'd be gone for a few days, come home from a hunt, and I'd find him sitting over you, watching you sleep".

"Where are you going with this Dad?" Sam asked suddenly worried by the pained and almost wistful way he was speaking. John Winchester didn't do wistful.

"I just want you to know, that I love you and Dean" John broke in, eyes suddenly catching directly with Sam, across the wide space of the room, "And that the things I do, aren't meant to hurt you".

"Dad?"

"I'll be leaving later" John exclaimed.

Sam didn't say anything at first; he just continued staring across at their father, across the wide gap that John had forcefully made. He might as well be out of the door and halfway across America, Sam decided.

"Right" Sam snorted, "I see".

"No you don't Sam"

"You're leaving" Sam clarified, eyes hardening, "Again".

"I'm not doing it to hurt you" John calmly stated, "This isn't about hurting you for leaving me".

Sam was suddenly at a loss for words, taken aback at his father's interpretation of his anger, and anger boiled away more.

"What about Dean Dad?" Sam hissed across at him and at the sound of his name, Dean moaned and shuffled on the bed, prompting Sam to lean down, "Shh, go back to sleep".

"Look I have my reasons" John defended himself, "And I understand that you want to come with me, but" he paused and looked uneasy, "I have some leads and connections that I want to look into".

Sam shot up and stalked across to him, speaking fast and hot into his face.

"There you go again" Sam spat, "Mr Mysterious, what aren't your sons good enough for you?"

"Look Sam" John said, slowly lifting his arms up and placing them gently on either side, "I understand what I'm saying is not sitting well with you, but I don't particularly know what I'm walking into and I don't want you boys there until I know for sure".

"Not sitting well!" Sam exclaimed, shoving John's arms away, "God you patronizing son of a… Don't we get a choice in this"?

"Let me finish" John shot out, "I'm trying to find answers here for the both of us. You really want to take Dean into a situation that we have no idea what we are going up against" he paused and gestured across to the bed, "He needs time, I need you both 100 "

Sam moved back from John and glanced at Dean, who still had a deathly pale glow to him, at the shadows around his eyes, at his vulnerable brother who lay asleep exhausted and may or not have an emotional breakdown.

"You've changed Sam" John spoke into his back, "You're not a little kid anymore… Dean needs you. I need you to be there for him... I'm sorry" the last words were whispered out quietly and brokenly.

_I don't know if I can be there for him, Sammy_

Sam turned and faced him again; face setting hard, as he nodded.

"Just don't go without saying goodbye to him"

tbc (possibly 1-2 more to go)


	12. Chapter 12

Fly to the Angels

Chapt 12/13  
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, an estranged father, and his own mother.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and them guys are not mine. This is not for profit

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. Should be one more after this

Chapter 12

Missouri sat at the kitchen table, a warming coffee in her hands. A ticking clock made its presence known in the silence of a house full of men. The comfort of the coffee and the rhythm of the clock soothed and lulled her against the varied emotions flittering around her and the house.

The boys had slept the remainder of the day away and again the night had crept up unnoticed. She herself had got some sleep the previous night, but after waking up several times with an uneasy feeling sitting upon her chest, had finally given up. She was sure something had happened when, out of the blue, Sam's anguished cry ripped through her head, and for second of an instant, she had been connected to all three; Sam, Dean and Mary, and had seen both scenes, like a broken reel of film. As quick as it happened, it vanished, and she was left scared and confused in her bedroom, and slightly paralysed with numbness, eyes wide full of panic. By the time she had found use of her body again, she had rung John, unashamed fear and urgency in her voice. John's voice met hers, hissing tightly with concentration as a break of tyres were heard in the background, informing her that they were already on the way to the hospital.

Missouri had never experienced anything like that before, and somewhere within her, she knew it wasn't her doing.

Sam, she thought.

That boy had a gift, abilities, that were stronger than her own.

The brief inter-cut of broken scenes left her agitated and buzzing with adrenaline, and after a while, she left and headed over to the hospital, where Sam had explained what had happened. But of course Missouri knew, just as he did, that Sam did not know what had truly happened. Only Dean did. Lying just as silent as he would have been if he was awake. When Sam and John slipped out of the room to talk to the doctor, she had bent over Dean's body, laying her palm against his forehead, _'I saw it Dean, I saw it"._

Rain tapped against the window, jolting her back to the here and now, and Missouri shivered at the sight of wind thrashing against the trees outside and at the presence she felt that had just entered the room.

"John Winchester" she said, looking down into her mug, "Do you think I don't know what you're doing?"

"I hate it when you do that" John said, behind her, from the doorway.

"You might have experience of sneaking out on your boys" Missouri said, not bothering to turn around and face him, "But I'm in tune with this house and everything in it".

John walked further into the room, until he leant on the table with both his arms, palms spread out.

"I'm not sneaking anywhere" John said, a small grin on his face.

"I know what you're planning" she said, turning and fixing him with a knowing stare.

John sighed and roughly pulled a chair out, letting his body slump into it.

"I have to go" he said, sighing loudly and rubbing his face tiredly.

"I know" she said, sipping her coffee quietly, "Doesn't mean I like it though".

John smiled and threw her a wry grin.

"Nobody's asking anyone to like it" he said, "Just accept it".

Missouri glanced over the rim of her mug before sipping it again.

"I've spoken to Sam" he continued, one hand spread out over the table, with a small laugh, "He doesn't like it. Made sure I knew" he paused and winced slightly as he sat back on the chair, the hard wooden frame digging into the small of his back in the exact same place the window ledge had caught him as Sam had pushed him, "But he accepts it, maybe even understands it a little. He's thinking of Dean right now" he paused and ran his tongue over his lips, "We both are. I'm thinking of my boys right now".

Missouri stood and walked around the table, placing the mug into the sink.

"She spoke to you" Missouri stated, slowly turning around, arms hugging herself, as she leant against the sink, "Didn't she?"

"You can tell…?" he asked, turning to her.

"There's just something… about you" she said, waving her hand in his direction, "Feels like Mary was with you".

John nodded and smiled brightly that shone with the briefest of happiness.

"You don't have to tell me what she told you" Missouri said, continuing to stare at him, "That's something between the two of you. But I'm guessing it has something to do with this".

John turned away and looked down at the table.

"Some things were shared" John confessed, "And I need to check some things out, and until I know for sure that my kids can stand on their own two feet – and this" he paused, laughing disbelievingly at the events of the last few days, "It took a lot out of us all, especially Dean. I don't want them involved".

Missouri took a few steps back to the table and slipped into a chair, next to John, but opposite to where she was previously sitting.

"You don't have to explain it to me John" she said, taking his hand in hers, "But for your sake, I just hope your boys can forgive you".

spnspnspn

Dean looked at his father, sat out on the porch, the house quiet behind him. Sam was upstairs in the room that they had shared. Dean hadn't seen Missouri for a while and wondered if she had gone out.

Outside, and beyond the protection of the porch, it was raining, harsher than the previous night.

He stepped further out of the house, coming to a stop by his father's side, and lowered himself down beside him.

"Hey"

"Hey" John replied.

John glanced at Dean, still seeing the tired smudges under his eyes. He was wearing a hoodie that he didn't recognise. One of Sam's, he thought.

"Wearing your kid brother's clothes kiddo?" he asked, good-naturedly, nudging Dean's arm with his own.

"Couldn't find my own" Dean replied, yawning, and then lifted his arm to his nose, sniffing the sleeve, "Besides, mine was starting to smell".

John grinned at him and returned to look out across the wet garden, drops of rain falling from overhanging plants and leaves.

"Listen Dad" Dean began, "About mom…"

"What?"

"I just thought" he continued, trying to find the words, "… that you should know…"

"Don't Dean".

"No Dad…" Dean stumbled again, "It's just… you should know…"

"I know" John said, smiling as he turned from looking at the garden, catching Dean's eyes, "I know".

Dean tore his eyes away, glancing out and reflecting the pose his father had just had.

"It's just; I've been walking around with mom in me -"

"Don't I know it" John snorted under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing" John coughed, clearing his throat.

"Whatever" Dean said, before rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of his bunched hand, "… So, I'm sorry. This must have been hard for you".

"Seriously Dean, I'm o.k." he paused, placing his hand on Dean's arm, "I know how your mother feels about me and she knows how I feel about her. There's nothing you have to tell me that I don't already know".

They both became silent, looking out across the damp garden and street, the paving shiny with rain that refused to penetrate, leaving a glossy layer instead.

"You're leaving again" Dean spoke up quietly. It wasn't spoken as a question. He was merely stating a fact.

"Yeah, I am" John confirmed, watching as a light appeared in a window of the house, opposite, across from them, reminding him that there was life beyond the silent house that they were sat against.

"I figured" Dean said, "Sam's walking around like a bear with a sore head".

"I'm sorry" John offered, "I would have told you before, but you've been out of it for a couple of hours".

Typical, Dean thought sarcastically, his father was apologising for not telling him before Sam, and presumably Missouri, not for the fact that he was leaving. Again.

"It's o.k." Dean shrugged stiffly by his side.

"I got some possible leads" John explained, glancing at Dean, "I need to check them out".

"The demon?"

"Maybe, I don't know"

"Right" Dean laughed bitterly by his side. Dean knew that his father was lying. Nothing had changed there.

"It's not…" John began, "I'm not just taking off. I don't know what I'm heading into and until I do –" he paused, biting down on his lip, "I mean you and Sam need some time to regroup. You need some time Dean. Get back on your feet".

Dean stood up quickly and feeling like he should do too he rose up with him.

"I can handle myself"

"I know you can. I just want to make sure." John said, and his next words, which he hated with a vengeance, were said to seal the decision, "I will always have your back Dean, but I need to make sure that you have mine".

Dean didn't say anything in reply, and for a minute or so, just stared at John unflinching, before a small nod shook his head.

"I just want to let you know -" John began as he remembered Mary's words to him

'_They're special, John, they're important'_

'_Don't you understand that by pushing them away, you're hurting them more, especially Dean'_

'_They need to know you care'_

'_Don't push them away'_

'_He wanted you there'_

'_What are you doing to our son's?"_

"- That…" but for the life of him, John Winchester just couldn't bring himself to form the words on his suddenly dry lips. Maybe it was male pride and self preservation or maybe simply because it had just been so long since he had been that honest with anyone, so bare and intimate with his sons. Such a long time ago, he thought, as a memory of a smiling four year old running across their front yard and into his arms flashed through his mind.

He closed his eyes in guilt. _Please forgive me Mary… Dean, forgive me._

"It's o.k." Dean stalled his failed attempt at bridging the gap, "I understand".

But John didn't think he did. Not really.

"Where's your things?" Dean asked, looking out and over to the truck, now sat out on the drive. This, John thought, Dean already knew.

"Already packed and in the truck" John spoke quietly, "I've just been waiting till I spoke to you".

"Right" Dean laughed dryly, pulling the hooded top tighter around him, "So you're leaving, like now?"

John looked at his son, and found himself trapped in his gaze once again, their positions so similar to that of nearly two days before, and he was instantly reminded why he felt he saw Mary in him. It choked at him like a cloak smothering him, and he pushed down at the ache in his chest, threatening to rapidly spread and devour him completely.

This was harder than he had expected, harder than Sam's suppressed and simmering anger, and most definitely harder than Missouri's weird balance of understanding and disapproval. This was Dean being complacent and quietly controlled. But his eyes, his eyes still said, _'Please don't leave. Not like Mommy' _like he had said when he had finally broken out of his traumatised silence sometime before his fifth birthday. After months of a silent and sullen four year old, who had numbly followed him everywhere he went, complying with order and requests like a brainwashed child, he'd finally found his voice after waking from a nightmare and whispered the small words to him.

"Dean…" he began, but he really didn't know what to say. He wanted to break and whisper back _'I'm coming back'_ but he knew, from bitter experience, that promises like that were doomed to be shattered and lost forever. It hadn't stopped him from saying it the four year old Dean once was though.

"You know what?" Dean stated with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm o.k. Really, I am".

John stalled as Sam appeared behind Dean, a hard set to his eyes and face.

"You leaving then?" Sam said, as he fell into place next to his brother.

"Looks like it" John replied, glancing between his son's and the strong wall their bodies had formed.

"You should go Dad" Dean spoke again, watching as the rain lashed down onto drive and John's truck.

"Yeah, I should" John said, stepping closer to them. He hesitated for a second, and then pulled Dean into his arms, "I'll call you".

"You better" Dean quietly said back, body stiff and unrelenting in his arms, before pulling away.

John turned his attention to Sam and slowly pulled him into a hug and Dean watched how Sam too stiffened until he slowly relaxed and tightly embraced his father back with the first intimate contact they had shared in years. Dean realised at the sight of Sam's tight enclosed eyes and knuckles digging in deep to their father's jacket, just how much his brother had missed, long before he had even left for Stanford.

John leant in close to Sam and murmured something into his ear, to which Sam pulled away, nodding.

Dean watched as their father walked away from them

He watched as he climbed into the truck and their eyes caught once more.

He watched as the truck rumbled to life and backed up, peeling out of the drive and into the road.

He watched as their father pulled away, finally, leaving muddy tracks like tears on the road, as the rain quickly and savagely beat down and washed them away.

"Are you o.k.?" he heard Sam say quietly beside him, their arms brushing.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm fine" Dean said, slowly smiling back.

He was fine. He would stay intact no matter what happened. Tears wouldn't affect him He wouldn't be hurt or broken. He was dry and the rain would just fall off him. Nothing of liquid nature was going to mess with him…

'_The rain just falls off of me_

_The tears just fall off of me_

'_Cause I'm waterproof, I'm waterproof_

_The pressure you're exerting is irrelevant to me'_

'_The skies are starting to cloud up_

_But that won't slow me down_

_Your eyes are starting to well_

_But that won't bring me down'_

'_It's misdirected, your voice inflected, for maximum sympathy'_

'_The rain just falls off of me_

_The tears just fall off of me_

_And nothing of liquid nature's gonna mess with me'_

'_The rain just falls off of me_

_The tears just fall off of me_

'_Cause I'm waterproof, I'm waterproof_

_Water, Water everywhere, but not a drop on me'_

_From the **Sparks** song **'Waterproof'**_

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, an estranged father, and his own mother.  
Pairing: Dean, Sam(gen), PG13- language warning.  
A/N: It's the end. Thank you all for your support and I hope the epilogue has done it, and you justice. Title from Slaughter's song of the same name.  
Disclaimer: Supernatural and them guys are not mine. This is not for profit

Chapter 13//Epilogue

They had decided to leave. After another restless night, once their father had left, Sam had informed Missouri that they would be moving on again. Lawrence, Kansas, was a place that neither Sam nor Dean wanted to be and if he was going to be honest, he just wanted to get Dean away from this town and that house – as far away as possible – just hit the gas and keep on going and regain some semblance of normality.

He chuckled to himself, realising how easy it was to slip back in to thinking that endless motels and hours in the Impala were anyway normal. An arsenal of weapons. Lies and cover stories. Living out of duffel bags. Injured or sick. The Winchester way of life, he thought dryly, but Dean had a way of making the shit life he had led seem just that bit more bearable and whether he truly wanted to get back on the road or not didn't even fathom in to the equation. This place just equalled hit the road and don't look back.

Sam hadn't known what to expect from Dean now that their mother, or energy if he was going to be precise – it didn't really matter, Dean had still felt her essence within him – had been extricated from him and he had seen her across the threshold to the other side. Of course, besides the whole emotional side effects of the attachment, and the fact that he had felt his mother's thoughts and had heard her voice running through his head, he'd never been that forthcoming with his emotions or information. Sensitive and reflective, that much was apparent to Sam, but emotional honesty was a rare thing, expressed in situations of desperation or no escape.

This was different though – he had lost his mother again and Dean was the type of person, Sam thought, who couldn't say goodbye, someone who didn't like to be left alone, left behind, abandoned and rejected.

He had expressed the usual abrupt defensiveness, the misplaced humour that didn't completely cover the pain, anger and hostility and a far of fear that real tears could find their way to leave messy tracks down his cheeks.

What he hadn't expected was the calm, complacent and quietly controlled Dean that he had left upstairs gathering the few belongings that they had taken from the car. If anything he had become quiet and withdrawn, and when Sam asked him questions or feeble comments and general words and observation in passing, Dean would just quietly shrug his shoulders. With a heavy heart Sam knew that this new subdued brother had much to do with their father leaving again.

_Thanks Dad. Really appreciate it…_

Their mother may have gone, the risk to Jennifer and her family may have passed, but Sam had forcibly decided, although he was smart enough to let Dean think it more of a joint decision, to get away from here, away from the past, away from the fresh new reminders of scars and another loss.

_Dad pretty much did that last night too…_

As he walked down the hall, he realised in all this time of worrying over the house, Jennifer and Dean, nobody had addressed as to why Sam and Dean were here in the first place and most definitely how the situation had escalated to allow Dean to go into their old house.

Him. Visions. Weird fucking vibes.

It was all his fault, Sam thought; this whole goddamn situation should never have been allowed to happen. He should never have brought Dean here.

"You didn't bring him" a voice said, startling him, "He would have come anyway and you know it".

Missouri stood in the open front doorway, paper bags and groceries piled in her arms.

He strode forward taking one of the bags from her.

"I let him go in there" Sam argued as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Come on Sam" Missouri gently chided as she dumped her own bag on the table, "He thought you were in trouble. Wild horses wouldn't have kept him out".

"But-" he began

She came forward, pulling the bag from his grasp, with a roll of her eyes.

"What is it with you Winchester men and your guilt complexes? Let me say it slowly – You. Are. Not. Responsible. For. Everything. In. The. World" she said, pronouncing each word slowly and with emphasis.

Sam found an amused laugh tumble from his gut as he rubbed his face tiredly.

"You sound like Dean" he commented as started to pick up some of the loose groceries and jars that had tumbled from the bag.

"Well, maybe he's right on this one" Missouri smiled as she too dug into her own bag and proceeded to pack some of the fresh food away into her fridge.

They fell into a silence as both concentrated on filling cupboards full of food and basic necessities.

"Where does your pasta go?" Sam asked, voice filling the silent room.

"Second cupboard on the left, top shelf" Missouri replied automatically.

Sam opened the high cupboard, and wondered briefly how Missouri, in her small frame could reach the assortment of packages, each and everyone piled high on each other. As he busied himself with rearranging the items and packets to enable Missouri a better reach and to fit the pasta on to the already overflowing shelf, he felt Missouri come up behind him.

"You felt it, even when I couldn't" he heard her say.

He turned slowly, feeling the edge of the counter dig into his back, until he found Missouri's soft eyes locked and searching his own.

"What's happening to me Missouri?"

spnspnspn

"You boys sure you want to go?" Missouri asked, "You can stay here a bit longer if you want".

They were stood in the drive of Missouri's garden, Dean leaning on the hood of the Impala, Sam and Missouri just off to the side.

"Nah" Sam said, shaking his head, throwing a look towards Dean, "Thanks, but this place, it's not for us. Not anymore".

"O.K." she said, smiling, "I understand".

She abruptly pulled Sam into a hug, fierce arms pulling tight around him as he whispered "I'm always here Sam".

"Yeah, I know" Sam said, pulling away from her, "Thanks for everything Missouri".

"Your welcome honey" she said, patting her hand on his arm.

Missouri turned and took a few steps over to Dean, who tilted his head quizzically, a small smile on his face.

"Goodbye Dean" she said, deciding not to take the same action as she did with Sam, keeping it to just words instead.

"See ya around" he said, letting his body slide down the hood and pushing away from the car.

He started moving around Missouri towards the driver's side, but stalled as Sam stuck his hand up in the air, revealing the car keys suspended and dangling from his finger.

"I'm driving" Sam said.

Dean's eyes hardened briefly and then he shrugged his body and muttered a "Whatever" before turning on his heel and walked briskly back towards the passenger side of the car. He opened the door and slid into the awaiting seat, letting the door thump with obvious distaste and a disgruntled manner.

Again Sam felt worried. Dean hadn't even argued or fought for the keys or made a sly comment about the decision being taken from him – the only sign that that he gave to indicate he wasn't happy was the slam of the car door that reverberated through the early morning silence.

He let his own hand fall into place over the handle of the car, looking once more at Missouri, before letting the door open.

Missouri was looking at Dean through the windshield and his hard, yet unfocused, stare off to the right somewhere, before catching Sam's eye again. She smiled reassuringly at him and with a wider grin, shrugged. He grinned back at her, although he didn't feel as relaxed or as amused, or even happy at the thought that they were finally getting to leave, as he lowered himself into the seat.

"Don't you boys be strangers" Missouri called out, her voice slipping through the open door.

"We wont" Sam promised back, as he let the door swing shut, hinges creaking wildly again. The sound didn't appear as reluctant as it hand when they had pulled up outside of their old house, groaning it's displeasure; this time it appeared to be relieved in nature.

Dean slowly turned his head and raised his hand up in a gesture that wasn't quite a wave, instead it was more of non-committal recognition, and gave one small nod of his head.

"Bye Missouri" Sam said as he started the ignition.

They saw Missouri smile and wave at them from the drive as they backed out of the drive and into the road. With one more glance behind him, Sam waved and nodded again, before finally pulling away and letting the impala take them further down the road, Missouri and her house becoming smaller with every breath.

As he drove, he threw several quick glances towards Dean, who either chose to ignore him or still hadn't realised Sam was scrutinising his every movement, facial expression or noise that parted his lips, that he had been doing the very moment since Dean had awoken in his hospital bed. The former was the more probable explanation.

"So, you want to stop by and see Jennifer?" Sam asked, when Dean continued to look out of his own window.

"Do you mind if we don't?" Dean's voice drifted back to him.

Dean leant forward and rummaged through the glove compartment, finally finding a pair of black sunglasses. He leant back onto his seat and slid them into place, masking his eyes completely, "Can we just get the hell outta here?"

"Sure" Sam said, wishing he could read Dean's eyes.

He regretted asking the question. Jennifer and her children were probably the last thing Dean wanted to see after everything that had happened. They served as a reminder to what they didn't have – a family of sorts, complete and whole. There may not have been a husband or a father in the mix, but that family would be more than they would ever have again.

He just hoped he would be enough for Dean. For now at least.

spnspnspn

They had been driving for a few hours now and Sam could not help but throw a few concerned glances at Dean. He was way too quiet and Sam just wished that none of this shit had ever happened.

At first Sam thought Dean's tilted head and relaxed face had meant he had fallen asleep. It was hard to tell with the shades that still sat on his face.

After one too many looks and what Sam had thought had become a discreet-Winchester observation, Dean lifted his head, ripping the shades from his head.

"Take a picture" he snapped, "It will last longer".

Not as discreet as he thought.

"I was worried about you" Sam said quietly, tightening his hands around the wheel.

"Well stop already" Dean grumbled, "I know it's difficult to keep you eyes off me, but try keeping them in the direction we are headin'".

There was one more glance between the two and then Dean resettled on the seat, head falling back, shades sliding back into place.

"Tell me what really happened Dean" Sam asked, voice calm and to the point, "With mom".

Sam surprised himself.

_Where the hell did that come from? Of all the things weighing on my mind at this moment…_

"Tell me what Missouri said about your shining" Dean mumbled back, arms moving around his chest.

"There's nothing to tell" Sam replied. And there wasn't. Missouri hadn't let him in on a deep, dark secret, or provided him with the answer he had wanted… any answer to be precise, to explain things away. She had just been there and given him some much needed reassurance and comfort.

"Nothing to tell here either" Dean murmured with a vague wave of his hand.

Silence filled the car again and after a few minutes Dean's breathing changed, evening out, informing Sam that the conversation was over, and that this time he truly was asleep.

spnspnspn

Daylight crept through Dean's closed lids like an intruder with an axe to grind and his half-spooned stiff body told him he wasn't lying in bed.

He rolled his head tiredly until something hard and cold connected sharply against the side of it. He groaned loudly, refusing to open his eyes fully, as pain erupted at the side of his head and he brought his hand up to rub at it.

"Dude!" a laugh, too loud and childish for his liking assaulted him, "That's gotta hurt".

He opened his eyes a crack, realising his head was leaning against the window of the car door. His shades had somehow slid from his face, and hung loosely from one ear.

The window, he thought, being the suspect for the blinding pain now running down the side of his head like the talons of some evil bird of prey had just taken a swipe at him.

He turned his head slightly, looking across his shoulder at his brother, half a burger in his hand, the other half being unceremoniously chomped in his wide grinning mouth. A dollop of mustard sat, undignified, on his chin. It reminded Dean of when Sam was kid.

He still is one by the looks of it.

"That's gross" Dean grumbled, taking in Sam's uncharacteristic eating behaviour.

"Learned from the best" Sam grinned, taking a napkin from a paper bag that was sat on the bench of the seat between them, and wiped at his face.

"Dude, grease!" Dean complained, pushing himself straighter in the seat.

Sam snagged the bag up and dumped it into Dean's lap.

"There's a burger in there for you" Sam commented, "Don't say I don't indulge you once in a while".

Dean pried the bag open, exploring the contents and to Sam's relief pulled the burger out, peeling the paper back.

"How long was I out?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food, taking in the surrounding area. He had no idea where they were, except for the fact that it consisted of a parking lot and one lonesome Burger King joint.

The burger went down well and he momentarily closed his eyes, enjoying the taste and texture. He hadn't even realised how hungry he was.

"A couple of hours" Sam replied, "Thought we'd stop for some food and by the look of it-" Sam grinned as Dean took another big bite of the burger, "- you needed it".

Once Dean had finished the burger, and the fries hidden in the bottom of the bag, which he silently thanked his little brother for, he turned and looked at Sam.

"I'm sorry".

Sam's head shot back to Dean, confused and shocked.

"What for?"

"I've kinda been _'all about me'_… and not about you".

"Dean, what are you…?" Sam began, "I'm not a kid".

"I know" Dean said quickly, "But you're dealing with this shin-… this thing" Dean amended, "And nobody really stopped to ask if you were doing o.k. with all of this" he paused, voice dropping, "with mom I mean".

"Dean, I'm o.k." Sam reassured him.

"No Sam" Dean argued back, maintaining his body composure stiffly against the door, "I've been a complete asshole over the last couple of day… and she was your mom too".

Sam sat up straighter, turning his body in his seat so he could face Dean more directly.

"Don't do this Dean…"

"I saw the way you were with Dad just before he left" Dean said abruptly, voice insistent, "I'm sorry".

"Dean!" Sam shouted loudly within the small space between them, causing Dean to physically snap back against the door, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I'm o.k." Sam continued, lowering his voice, "And even if I'm not" he paused and jabbed his finger at Dean, "You don't get to act like all this shit is your fault!"

Dean didn't respond, and turned his head away, unsure of how to react to Sam's anger.

"I'm sad that mom's gone, I really am" Sam said, when it was obvious that Dean wasn't going to respond, "But I'm o.k. and Dad… well, that's nothing new, is it. So why don't you cut the bull-shit and tell me how you really feel about all of this?"

Dean, still looking out of the windshield, shrugged his shoulders in response.

"There's nothing to tell" Dean murmured back. There were those words again – like a big black fat lie smothering him whole.

_Dead_

_Gone_

_Despair_

_Alone_

_Tired_

He bit down on the unsaid words, trying to shut them up behind another wall, another gate with a well-hidden key, which he willed to stay erect and closed, strong and unyielding against Sam's penetrative stare.

"They might be gone" Sam said and Dean felt his eyes burning into the side of his face, "Dad might not be around…"

Shit, Dean thought, sometimes Sam was so in-tune with his inner monologues. The kid knew him too well, just like he did with him.

"…So that just leaves us" Sam continued quietly and calmly, "And I'm not going anywhere Dean".

Dean turned then, sharp as he locked eyes with Sam whose face was serious and earnest and ever so slightly pink.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth" Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

"That's disgusting" Sam chuckled at the familiar humour.

"Not as disgusting as the obscene amount of girlyness you have subjected me to" Dean exclaimed with an exaggerated shudder as he slid back into position.

"Me?" Sam asked, bewildered, "You're the one who…"

"Shut up Sammy".

"Right, that's it" Sam suddenly snapped, "Enough of the Sammy. I've been going easy on you because of how… sensitive you were acting" he said, as he turned and looked out of the windshield, hands grasping hold of the wheel, "But it stops right here, you hear me Dean?"

"Sammy…" Dean mock whined, a grin overtaking his features.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, head snapping back, eyes sharp, "I swear I will... I will…"

"Will what?" Dean mocked him, still grinning wildly.

"… I'll" he paused and waved his arms about, "I'll rip your limbs off and beat you over the head with them to the beat of a medley of country songs".

"Dude, you're a freak" Dean exclaimed with a gasped laugh, "Why would you even think that?"

Sam shrugged as a small smile played on his lips, "Two freaks in the same pod, I guess".

Dean leant into the small gap between them and gently pushed Sam's head away with a ruffle.

"Like I said, freak"

"You ready to go?" Sam asked and turned on the ignition even before Dean could answer.

"Where to?" Dean asked.

In their rush to leave – to leave Lawrence and their past behind – they never actually discussed a destination.

"Where ever the road takes us" Sam replied enigmatically, as he slowly peeled out of the parking lot, manoeuvring around a couple of parked cars.

As he pulled back on to the road, his hand reached out and fumbled with the radio controls.

"Shot-gun shuts his cakehole" he said before Dean could complain. He didn't bother searching for any particular station; instead he left it where it was.

As one song slowed and died out a smooth voice floated around them before introducing the next song, filling the confined space with lyrical content.

'_Pictures of you__  
__They're still on my mind__  
__You had the smile__  
__That could light up the world__  
__Now it rains__  
__It seems the sun never shines__  
__And I'll drive down__  
__This lonely lonely road__  
__Ooh I got this feelin'__  
__Girl, I gotta let you go__  
__'Cause now you've got to fly, fly high__  
__Fly to the angels'_

"… Sorry" Sam said, startled out of his revelry, searching for the radio controls again, "I'll turn it off-"

"No" Dean said, reaching out and snagging Sam's wrist, "Leave it"

So they left it to play on and the song continued and provided Dean and Sam, together, with one more goodbye to their mother, and maybe if they were honest, their father too.

'_Heavens awaits your heart__  
__And flowers bloom in your name__  
__You've got to fly, fly high__  
__Fly to the angels__  
__All the stars in the night__  
__Shine in your name__  
__You know it hurts me__  
__Way deep inside__  
__When I turn and look__  
__And find that you're not there__  
__I try to convince myself__  
__That the pain, the pain__  
__It's still not gone.'_

**_Fly to the Angels – Slaughter_**

The end

pats her men It's been a real journey.


End file.
